


Anthologia

by ramenbowie



Category: Splatoon
Genre: :v), Alcohol, Explicit Language, Fluff and Angst, Illustrations, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, PLANTCORE, Romance, Slice of Life, Smoking, idiots to lovers for sure, ignore the stupid tags this is actually vry srs, some headcanons too so if u think inklings cant swim Do Not Interact, this might not seem like a slow burn but trust me it is, too many fuckin plants, tw: landlords
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2019-09-20 02:30:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17013873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramenbowie/pseuds/ramenbowie
Summary: Would have he seen himself in an unfamiliar apartment, still curating his capricious plants, besides Kelp Dome's, and growing more and more fond of his flatmate? No, of course not.





	1. END COME TOO SOON

_(On the cusp,  
_ _The both of us without any maybes but musts.)_

 

His sensibility, something he valued the most, turned out to be a weight too heavy for his finicky date.

 

It might be the last time Olive Anthos had a chance to look into June Maure’s eyes.

 

One overestimated, and one underestimated the outcome of their relationship, and they're now stuck in her silky sheets, separated and thoughtful. Olive looks for that trace of sweetness in miss Maure. She's silent, calculated. She hides behind a trace of smoke, and won't dare to say anything more than “we got too far”, while she dresses up. June leaves, and he lays in the same spot, as passive as ever.

 

 

Wherever he might've gone wrong, it's too late to think about that. He leaves the dried frond he's been twisting between his fingers this whole time on the pillow. Olive also slides back into a shirt and gathers his belongings. He leaves the house, without looking for her, without any goodbyes. The final words were already said anyway.

 

Later on, he'd receive a phone call. June bluntly explains how she doesn't feel anything anymore for him, and her diplomacy and analytical mind shine through. Contrasting the precise voice, Olive's hums are as lost as himself. He ends the call, as he looks for the keys for the apartment.

 

He closes the door behind him, and he starts sliding down it. His blank expression stayed unchanged since the phone call, he’s staring straight ahead into the void, letting his limbs spread on the floor. Should he convince himself he's not alone on this earth, he tries dialling his teammate. It goes straight to voicemail, she’s still travelling. Olive lets his hand fall on the floor, phone and all.

 

It gets quiet. It’s piercingly quiet. His mind runs off.

 

There was one sight that Olive still remembers since childhood. Most romance movies he watched without his mother’s approval after bedtime showed lovers planting their lips all throughout each other’s skin. The scene that left a mark on him was one which showed a lady sticking fangs out in her neck kiss, bringing gasps from the man she’d captured. It was so scandalous for his young mind, it remained sealed into his vision.

 

And the exact same scene rolled over his eyes, looking back at how Maure snatched him away, all dazzled, all vulnerable to the high of falling for a feeling. And he falls so easily.

 

Her bites would sometimes leave bruises. His flowers and gifts would make her switch to innocent nibbles. Maybe she had enough of bouquets and bonbons. He can’t really bring the excitement she wished for. Then again, it was his first date, he had to make it perfect. Nobody gets it perfect in the first go. Anthos was very shortsighted in the past months. Now, with his ass on the cold kitchen limestone, he starts seeing the mess that he let happen. Truth is, a cheeky crush turned into a caprice.

 

Maure is smart, nevertheless. She’ll be smart enough to avoid seeing Anthos around campus for the rest of her stay at University. She’ll finish her course and clean her hands. Olive’s just a simple fresher, he won’t bump into June again for a few more years to come. They’re separating ways.

 

It's oddly relieving, knowing that all of this will stay in the past. The constant state of uncertainty and helplessness in his hook up is gone. Of course he feels remorse and he can’t detach as easily as she did, but he too can be wise. What’s done has been done, and he needs to find someone else to pour his love into, hopefully someone who appreciates a bit of clinginess. No hard feelings for June, though, probably only thankfulness for opening up his dreamy eyes. It's hard to manage someone like him, he needs to suck up.

 

Olive scoffs at himself, runs a hand through the two tufts in his hair to relieve the incoming headache. He appreciates his level temper in such moments, but his soft spot is still stinging. Whoever thought mindlessly falling in love is beautiful, they don’t know shit. What goes deep inside him is unsettling at best. It’s scary to be alone. It’s scary to not have a strong knot around someone. He can’t just suddenly go prancing around in life by himself. There just isn’t anyone anymore to take him by the hand. Life is to be shared with someone, and not sharing little moments with anyone drives Olive insane. There’s no worth in them anymore.

 

No worth in his fortunes, there’s no worth even in his misfortunes. Who would know, anyway? If anything good or horrible would happen to him right now, it wouldn’t make a difference. There’s no point of reference in close reach for Anthos.

 

Melodrama aside, which lasted a few good hours, he snaps back to the mundane. He anxiously anticipated reaching a breakup by the time June stopped asking for a piece of his mind, and not of his skin. Their separation wasn't that sudden. It was very predictable for anyone without rose-tinted lenses.

 

By the next day, he had enough of this useless lingering. The world won’t end. He doesn’t escape his routine. He heads for the campus in the morning, diligently attends lectures, even if he might fall asleep in them, and gets his marked work back. Exceptional, among-the-top results for his latest laboratory assignment, though Olive lets this fact pass by.

 

His coursemates are whispering. How can Olive not proudly mention his achievement in any conversation? He always did that. Maybe he has reached burnout around the end of the first year. He’s detached, a bit of a bitch, and he sticks to monosyllabic responses.

 

...It’s not like him! He knows well he’s acting wrong. He went from lax to cranky. He doesn’t need others to tell him that, it’d just get him frustrated.

 

He tells himself to get up. It’s been three days. He needs something fresh. He should stop drawing flowers over his notes... he could draw one on himself.

 

Too bad he regrets the idea by the time the tattoo artists' needle stings him in a place he can't even see properly. A delicate, stylised flower will soon be resting for the rest of his life on his lower back, which sounded cooler before getting continuously stung for an hour. He thought it'd be clever to do an olive blossom, pun of his too literal name, but not many will ever recognise it as such. At least the rarity of its sight made it a bit more special.

 

* * *

 

It’s evening. His back still burns, he soothes it by dragging his cushion fingers over it. Olive sits in front of the fridge for minutes, thinking of how to cook with only a bag of frozen peas and a stick of butter. He’s too lazy to go grocery shopping. The shop is a street away, but he feels sloth dripping away from his pores. It’s not the time for that, though. His paper is due, he barely did any research for it, and the topic brings little to no interest out of him.

 

Instead of going over a dozen ecosystems created after the Great Flood, he’d rather spend the evening admiring the intricacies of the leaves that surround him, feeling their different textures. Firm, sharp, smooth, veiny, fuzzy... Instead of pressing fingers over someone’s skin, he could substitute it for a while with leaves.

 

He has flower pots placed all around the apartment, he’s adopted and grown so many plants in the privacy of his room, all with diverse and lush foliage, that his apartment can rival the University’s greenhouse. The shadows that form around the plants’ silhouettes are so elegant, interweaving warm light with the crisp greenery. Nature always knows a way to create beauty on its own, and Anthos will be forever fascinated by this.

 

That’s what he thought being a botanist was about, letting his hands curate and take care of such beauties. Academics only dulled down the wonder and magic of it. Olive never was a fan of formalities, after all. He’s headstrong enough to keep that unexplainable passion separated from the overly-scientific, formulaic view he holds. A diploma in Botany sure looks nicer than a Splat Zones rank, though, so he spends the weeks before the deadline in the library.

 

* * *

 

Luck really doesn't shine on him lately. Someone quickly took advantage of his absence. He should’ve known not to trust the neighbourhood he moved into. Returning from a long study session, he finds his apartment broken in, rummaged through all of his papers, pots and field notes. All of this just for a thief to steal the crucial amount of cash Olive left over for rent. Not good. Rent's due in a few days.

 

He envisioned tucking in bed comfortably on his way back, not standing frozen in the middle of the house turned upside-down. Following the frenzy of curses he spat this whole time, he stops. He won’t go beg mercy for anyone. Only he knows about this, and that’s how it’s gonna stay. He’ll solve this by himself, there’s still time.

 

Reality then sinks in, the implications of this happening are rather serious. He’s had a rough history with his fussy landlord, he can’t afford hitting a nerve with him again, or even dare trying to stall the payment. He’s fucked if he can’t get hold of money by the end of the week, but only if.

 

Besides, police won’t probably find who did the deed, even if it took them hours to pick off fingerprints out of the student’s apartment. As time drips by, the lack of solutions infuriates him, stresses him out so much that he can’t think of anything else but the stupid rent.

 

All hope is not lost, however, as a backup plan lays before his sight. On his way back from groceries, he sees a poster: distracting, colourful and crowded.

 

The Annual Amateur Mid-summer Tournament is tomorrow. The name’s a mouthful, and the prize is just right: a hearty sum of money, more than enough to keep him into the apartment for another 3 months. He rushes to sign up in Inkopolis Plaza, with milk in hand and all.

 

Olive doesn’t often decide to battle on his own, so this better work out. He usually has Pepper Ludmila on his side, but she’s busy holding intense battles for competitions overseas, tournaments that tie together big names. Which is a lot more respectable, she got further than him in this domain. He’s sure his graduation meant that Pepper can no longer be held back by his lack of skill or talent, though she doesn’t want to see things as such.

 

* * *

 

The decisive day comes by quickly.

 

He finds himself in a fast-paced, free for all tournament, where groups of six individuals battle to get closer to the grand prize. So, in other words, if you're very unlucky, you'll have five enemies chasing you around.

 

The rules are well known, whoever inks the most turf wins. It either turns into a multicoloured battlefield, or a monochromatic one, where the most inkthirsty battler eliminates most of its rivals.

 

There’s a twist. It's all or nothing, one splat and you're out for good, to tie in with the lack of teams. It seems dangerous, but, surprisingly, Olive manages to do well out of his simple joy for detail and stealth, managing to catch corners often forgotten by the more violent contestant, jumping away from danger whenever he felt queasiness. The top 3 battlers get a chance to continue fighting, and while Olive never managed to get first place, he always entered the qualifying spots. It might also be because the other 3 losers sometimes got splatted before they had a chance to continue, but that's just how the cookie crumbles.

 

It's the fifth battle. So far, it went unbelievably smooth, he's filled with hope. Compared to the first ones, he now gained enough confidence to sneak into wider, more exposed spots to steal turf. Survival and behind-the-scenes action are still an important part of his tactic, and thankfully, the other 4 contestants begin picking onto each other, letting him and another one take care of the territories.

 

Olive sees red spots reappearing in places he'd been before, and no matter how many times he tries covering them up, the red-inked rival always returns with his splash of colour, over and over again. The ground goes green for a minute, then it goes red. Rinse and repeat a hundred times. Red. Green. Red. Green...

This semaphore sequence can go on to infinity, so one of them needs to be smarter. To get the upper hand, he needs to know where his opponent is.

 

He skids to a hiding spot, behind a pillar. Olive sits with his right shoulder glued to the wall, with his eyes constantly scanning any movement in the area. With such a good cover, he doesn't need to check behind. Or so he thought.

 

Nobody likes a campy battler. For the red opponent, "not liking" is too little said. Because, in an instant, his Dual Squelcher went flying into Olive's head, sending off a loud thud and knocking him out for half a breath. He raises himself off his knees, and turns to the other fuming.

 

"The fuck's your problem?" Olive dug his palm on the bruise that started to form under his hair.

"Get off my goddamn turf!"

" _Your_ turf?!"

 

 

 

Before their quarrelling continues, a whistle jarringly announces the halt of the match. The familiar Judd, skirting his little feet over to the offenders, flashes a black flag in front of their faces. You don’t see a black flag too often in Turf War, the meaning is as clear as day. Disqualification. Very unsportsmanlike of them.

 

Olive goes white. The ink in his hair drains and pales suddenly, his pupils are tinier than ever, he’s unable to feel or do anything. His plan failing was unimaginable before, and now it’s as real as ever. He's frozen solid, while the riled-up stranger starts swearing under his breath and bribing the judge for a softer penalty.

 

That's not the case, they get moped outside. Without any money, without any discussions. _Surrender of tenancy_ is written all over his forehead.

 

For now, he's stuck outside the Tower, right next to the guy who screwed him over. The scoreboards promptly crossed out their names. He couldn’t care less for checking the other’s name. From intense fear, Olive went to intense spite. He's so vexed, his fingers rake at each other and their palms. He should stop. They sharply reach for his weapon's carry case. He takes a cigarette out, he has to think of one last way out of losing his place, but it's hard when the dude who just smacked you shifts his look towards you insistently. Why, though? Olive does the same back, and gets a glance of the idiot. He's a short guy, with a side swept hairstyle. He's very uninspired in colour choices, the all-black scheme of his clothes naturally lets your eyes dart to the saturated carmine colour of his eyes. His heavy eyelids thankfully soften the sharp eye-shape and stare he holds.

 

"Stop looking at me." Olive spat.

"So you wanna stay angry...?" The stranger sounds a tad nasal.

 

Olive pays no mind. He goes back to flicking the soot off the cigar. The stranger, however, keeps staring. Anthos’s not liking it.

 

“You should’ve just splatted me. Asshole.”

“Yeah, on a second thought. I should’ve. I made a great first impression, didn’t I?”

 

His goofy, though snarky smile just brings Olive to a boiling point.

 

“You fucking stress over your first impression?! ...Nothing more important here?!” Olive has his tone unusually sharp.

“Look, unless your head still hurts, that was a dick move on my part, there’s no point in being so stuck up about a tournament. These battles are for-“

“I don’t care, don’t give a fuck about the battle, or you. I only wanted the cash. I lost the roof above my head, and you yap about your stupid image.”

“Whoa, there.”

 

There’s an awkward moment of silence.

 

The stranger‘s less loud. “Like in...?”

“Now you get some links going?”

“...”

 

At least that got him quiet. He reads between the lines. The red-inked man furrows his eyebrows while he crosses his arms, looking away to his left. He's suddenly tense.

 

With that out of the way, Olive leans back on the tower's wall, scrolling through his phone like mad, to start searching alternatives. It takes him a few solid minutes to come up with something. He’ll either borrow a-

 

...The stranger snatches Olive's phone. It takes him by surprise.

 

"Uh... Not cool...? Give it back?"

 

He quickly taps in a number, long and pointy fingernails clacking fervently on the screen, saves it, then hands back the phone.

 

He takes a few steps back, keeping his stare on Olive. "Sorry man. You seem in a pinch. I don’t want to twist and turn in my sleep over you, so... I have a free spot over my place, text me if you need it."

 

The stranger turns and leaves before Olive can say a thing. He’s left with the sun in his eyes. He looks down on his phone, and sees the new contact. Rodi.

...Rodi? That's his name?

 

Olive keeps gawking at the name, his cigarette was nearly finished and waiting to burn his fingers. That's not right, though. That happened too quickly. Things don't make sense. This day was too much already. The stub suddenly burns his index finger, he yelps. He throws it on the ground and squishes it hard.

 

Whatever train of thought he had, it’s gone. He needs a retreat, back home. He can’t even savour his last hours into it from the bewilderment he’s experiencing.

 

* * *

 

The door unlocks, he lets it close with a backwards kick. Olive impulsively gets his phone out. What was his name... He taps it. And stops. He stares at the blank conversation, at the keyboard, but he won't bring himself to write anything. Where should he even start? Ask more about his favour, or just forget it all? On a second thought, neither. Not just yet. He still needs to digest the situation. He tucks the phone back in his pocket.

 

He feels a foul stench coming from one corner of the kitchen. A flower vase with a rose bouquet has been sitting there for two weeks, forgotten and unkempt. It was supposed to be gifted, but it never got to its recipient. Said recipient was last seen in her home, holding Olive for a last time. He said he wouldn't think back on it, but something stood out like a sore thumb since then. June used to be rather indifferent to Olive’s pleas for staying together, but by the end of it all, before leaving the mansion by herself, she looked very saddened. It was a huge shift in her mood, and June is usually balanced in her demeanour. She definitely planned out their end, but he'd expect Maure to walk out of the relationship with better morale, not looking in the ground, with her back constantly turned. Hence the last phone call, she knew she’s been too emotional, she wanted to look unaffected, to have the last, cold word. Not that Olive would fight for it, he’d give her anything, even that.

 

It was nobody's entire fault in the end, both had made their mistakes right from the beginning. Sadly, they were acknowledged too late. June made the mistake of taking advantage of an unassuming romantic in a rough place on her timeline. Olive made the mistake of selfishly accepting her advances, out of a strong need for something physical. The closer they were to ending their hookup, the more they dragged each other down. It's for the best. He starts sweeping the petals into the bin, though some of them fall outside. Forgive and forget, he'll appreciate whatever he had.

 

Back onto the current frame, Olive can’t brush off the queasy feeling from today's exchange. The stranger's proposal becomes outlandish, given the context of their meeting. Nobody blows someone’s head off like a golf ball and then decides to help them out. There should be something as rotten in the middle as the brown petals scattered on the floor.

 

He gets startled mid-picking up the petals when his doorbell rings. Surprise, surprise, Pepper returned early from the competition. She unlocks the door herself, after waiting for only 2 seconds.

 

He looks wide-eyed in her direction, mouth agape. "Oh my god, you're back."

Pepper's a bit confused, seeing him kneeling on the floor. "Yeah I am! What are you even doing?"

"Cleaning."

Olive's cluelessness, mixed with his bluntness makes Pepper giggle.

"Not with that spooked face."

 

Anthos relaxes, he giggles with her. Not even a minute in and he's already feeling better, the whole room lit up with her. Everything clears up. Of course he let her have one set of extra keys, not only for safety measures, but half of the reason is because he got tired of locking and unlocking the door after her all the time. He gets off the floor and takes her in a big, hearty hug. Pepper embraces back with an even tighter hold, making Olive humorously gasp for air.

 

“You’re back.” He says again in slight disbelief, for reassurance.

"I can't believe I go missing for a month and you end up sitting on the floor!"

Olive keeps hugging, letting himself move along with Pepper’s childish sway.

 

Once that’s over, Pepper prances on her springy feet to the coat hanger, leaving her supersized backpack behind, then turning back as bubbly as ever. “So, what were you doin’?”

"Haha. About that..." Olive picks Pepper up and places her on the armchair, disregarding any squealing or the fact that she's grown so fit that it's hard to carry her around. "Sit here. Let's both catch up, talk about what we've been doing lately, okay? You start."

"You’re rushing things! Did you miss me?" She neatens her shirt.

Olive sits in front of her, amusingly enough, on the floor. "I missed your surprise entrances, sure. How come you're back early?" He rubs his hands together in anticipation, whilst showing his neat fangs.

Pepper stretches in a cattish manner. "Ehh, you know how it is! Some smartass decides to play sniper and throws off the entire team. ...We used to have that happen a lot in high school."

"Good times..." Olive winces at the thought of a Splatterscope targeting him, though he’s keeping the smile on his face. "So, that's all? You lost one game?"

"Not only one, we went pretty far in the tourney, but we didn't make it in the finals. I don't really care, it was full of snotty kids. Even you, of all people, seem more fun than them!"

"Thanks, I'm touched."

She pulls her head back. “Man, I don’t know, now that’s done... I should start a new hobby, I have too much downtime in between tournaments and freelancing. How about skateboarding? That sounds cool. Whatcha think?”

Olive distantly nods along. All seems to be fine and dandy in her world. Or, that’s the impression she always wants to leave. Olive knows her enough by now to know she’s susceptible to bottling up.

 

 

Ludmila stretches over him and playfully punches his shoulder. "Your turn!"

 

And his smile dissipates. He doesn't want to burden Pepper with his problems, he wishes to see her happy and glowing all the time. His inconveniences really aren’t worth it from his point of view. Otherwise, how can she light up his mood in situations like these? It seems that she's left him pretty cornered though, she's kicking her feet into his chest, waiting for a response.

 

"Spill it out, homie. I know you have something in there."

Anthos grabs her ankles, so she would stop kicking. "A lot happened."

"Small steps, you can do it."

“Um... give those keys back.” His eyes dart Pepper’s set of his extra keys.

“What, why? ...Not until you tell me!”

“Yeah, I just realised I have to hand those back too... Look, I’m moving out.” He hesitated on the last few words.

“Weird. I thought you decided on staying ‘till the year’s end. Where’re you moving?”

“I... I don’t know yet? I just need to... I have an option already, but...” Olive circles around the main idea, straying his gaze to the side.

 

Pepper frees her ankles from his hold and stands up. “Olive! Did something happen?”

Random syllables come out of his mouth.

“Did something _bad_ happen?” Ludmila thinks she might get something out if she asks the problem differently.

“No. Yes? Sort of.”

 

Pepper leans closer, over her knees. He should start slow, as the first step to fixing a problem is identifying its source.

"You know how I applied, like, some months ago to a bunch of places. Not many called back."

"That's so annoying!"

He raises a finger. "However, only one place got back to me, and, guess what, it's Kelp Dome."

"Now, that's better," Pepper sighs in relief.

"My only problem with that is that they move so, so slowly... I haven't even finished the whole recruitment process, and some colleagues have been working for months now." Olive picks up the pace in his talk. "And I've planned to start work by the beginning of summer, and it's already the middle of it, and I'll end up pissed off and forgotten and broke, which," he deeply sighs, "brings me to the main point."

 

Seeing how things stand, and how he's sunken into himself, Pepper lifts Olive from the floor. He’s malleable enough to scoop him from under the shoulders and make him sit on the armchair. She starts pacing in front of him. Her hands are on her hips.

“That being?”

“I signed up for this tourney...”

“Oh, yeah, I know which one. There's a pretty good prize! And then...”

“Then I get disqualified. Along with a guy who thought it’s fine to smack me in the head with a weapon.”

“Hahaha! Oh wow.”

“...”

“Sorry! Go on!”

“And I’m here.”

“What’s that to do with moving out?” Pepper stops and faces Olive head-on.

 

Olive avoids Pepper’s stare and scratches a non-existent itch behind his neck. Before convincing himself to come clean, he meekly covers his mouth, so his words come muffled.

“I can’t pay rent.”

Pepper’s expression goes from stern to concerned. “No way! It’s the shitty landlord, isn’t it? I can help, I just got-” She rushes over her bag, left at the door.

“Wait, I don’t need it!” His legs instantly spring from the chair. Olive rushes over her and zips up her bag.

 

Pepper looks disoriented at Olive’s stiff hands, going from clawed on the zipper to softening around hers. “...You earned it, keep it.”

“Dude! It’s not like I have anything to do with this!”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

 

Her lime eyebrows ruffle up. She puffs in frustration. “Ugh. You never want any help, ever. Neither your mum, or myse-“

“I already got help.”

Ludmila knows and reminds herself she’s quick to jump to conclusions. She lets him talk.

“Someone lets me stay over their place.”

“Who?”

Anthos nervously laughs, he tried to avoid this question. “Neither do I know.”

“That’s just wrong! It’s not safe to meet strangers! That’s like, a basic safety rule!”

“I already met him! It’s just that I don’t know him too well.”

“...Well? How’s he, from what you’ve got?”

Short pause.

“...A bitch?” He mutters for himself under his breath, not knowing more about them.

“Just like you!”

“Pepper, please.”

 

In the light of the situation, Pepper flashes her fangs once more and sends off a youthful laugh, with snorts and all.

She’s back to taking things as lighthearted as usual.

 

“I needed a better apartment anyway. Rent’s too high for this shit hole.”

"Oh, come on, it ain't that bad. You're just bitter over losing it." Pepper starts crawling to his behind, to toy with his long hair. “When’re you gonna get kicked out?”

“Soon... very soon. Likely tomorrow, since that’s when everything’s due.”'

She tugs on the tentacles on every consonant, out of slight frustration. “Augh, I would so kick Rue out, so you’d have space at my place.”

“I think your brother hates me enough already,” Olive adamantly smiles, and holds his hair from its base so it won’t hurt.

 

It takes a few silent minutes for Pepper to finish messing up her teammate’s hairstyle. Once she’s done using Anthos as a guinea pig, she says stoically: “...So you’ll move in with the guy.”

Olive ponders for a few seconds. “Should I?”

“Do you have any other options?”

He can’t come up with anything. “...Not really, not now.”

“Do it, then. You’re already this low. At least ‘till you’re done with your summer term, and then move in with your mum.”

 

Bless her honesty, because his decision-making skills are too sluggish for these circumstances. He nods and intentions to follow her advice.

 

Though, after a pause, part of her wants to eagerly change the subject, as if remembering something. She's showing some hesitation. “Now... There’s this girl I met. She skateboards, that’s why I’ve been thinking about getting into it.”

Olive oohs. Pepper pinches his arm, he squeaks.

“Let me finish, geez. Thing is, she’s super good at it, but she’s so aloof and shy, I can’t just come up to her and be like: _hey! I’m Pepper, a crazy bitch, can you teach me some flips?_ She’ll close up in-stan-tly.”

“Then go easy.”

“Will it be worth a try?”

“Maybe. I can’t be the only one taking leaps of faith here.”

“I’m not convinced,” she yawns playfully.

“Then why ask me?!”

 

Ludmila just snickers.

 

She hangs around for a few more minutes. She gets disappointed by how empty the fridge is, whilst Olive gets lost in newer worries. Moving in with someone you just met, as ludicrous as it is, could probably be viable. But he can’t go back home after, his mother shouldn’t know any of this. He won’t be another weight on her shoulders, he’s been that enough.

 

As soon as Pepper storms off home, only after another hug, Olive reluctantly begins packing up. The landlord will surely come by next morning to make the unceremonious announcement, so he better be ready for it. He definitely won't be able to move with all his plants, he will leave the larger ones behind. Which sucks, it's a bit of a heartbreak, he put in a lot of hours into them, but they just aren't practical.

 

By evening, still not done with packing, he gets his phone out once more. He’s finally gutsy enough to type his text.

 

“It’s that guy from today. do you still have a free spot for me?”

Sent. He stays with his phone in his hand, waiting minutes for it to buzz.

...

 

“yes, ill be in tomorrow. you don't even have to knock at the door when you arrive. call me when you can”

 

The red inkling is nice enough to offer an exact map location instantly after.

How surprisingly easy it was.


	2. LAST NIGHT ALL MY DREAMS CAME TRUE

_(Baby, come stay for a while, we’re agile together._  
_When we move it’s with trust, it’s with truth,  
_ _We’re fragile together.)_

 

Hopefully, the map pointed him to the right place. It’s Blackbelly Street, after all, home of the famous Blackbelly Skatepark. And some streets right next to it, there's Rodi's apartment, on the fourth floor of a small block.

 

The low buildings are sandwiched between tiny streets, where only a bike can pass through. It's calm at this hour, it's as if everyone's taking their afternoon naps in their homes. This residential area is overshadowed by the taller, more modern buildings, and it is well known to be a haven for those who willingly moved into Inkopolis and left their hometowns behind. By coincidence, here is where his family was supposed to move, though mama Anthos opted for the more natural outskirts.

 

Fourth floor. Here goes nothing.

 

Olive reaches the front door, and keeps his hand hovering above the handle, to listen for any sounds coming from inside. It's quiet, he goes in, as instructed in yesterday’s text.

 

On his careful first step inside, he notices yesterday’s stranger, sprawled like a kitten on the opposite couch.

 

 

 

“Hey, you showed up.” The host chimes in.

“Yeah, sorry for not calling back. I got caught up with packing...” Olive rattles the luggage he’s been dragging around.

“Feel at home. Leave that in a corner. Any is fine... Yes, there."

 

The red inkling jumps off his spot to approach Olive and, with a hand on his broad shoulder, he kisses both of his cheeks. Olive’s greeted this friendly only by his aunt. However, Rodi doesn’t seem the old fashioned kind, his lips left a balmy mark on the cheeks, it’s more of a stylish act than anything. Then his head turns towards the bulky luggage in the corner.

“Is this all?”

Anthos wipes his cheeks, not fully realising where he's now. “You mean my stuff? It’s this and my backpack.”

“So, you’re expecting a long stay...?”

“Well, it’s up to whoever owns the place to decide it.”

“Risky to say that.”

 

From that reply, Olive’s expression betrays worry.

 

Of course, Rodi wants to explain himself. “Oops, don’t take it as menacing! I’m jeering myself here. I’m a busy man, I can’t afford hosting someone for too long.”

“I understand. Ah, thank you anyway for letting me stay.” Olive awkwardly scans the household, not moving from his spot. It’s small, though cozy enough to accommodate two people. “Do I have to pay a share of the rent?”

It’s as if Rodi never thought of this question. “I don’t know. It’ll complicate things. We’ll see.”

“I don’t want to be a freeloader, you know...” He kneads his shoulder bashfully.

“For now, as long as you don't trash the house, I’m happy.”

 

Since Olive’s not displaying a broad spectrum of expressions, only ones of excessive caution, Rodi sneaks behind and gives a nudge on his back.

“Okay, lemme show you around and settle some rules.”

 

He’ll walk as dictated by the palm resting on his lower back. Straight from the doormat, they enter the kitchen, a modest though well-equipped one, which acts an extension of the living room. Separating the living room and kitchen sides of the room, there's a glass door veiled by burgundy curtains, leading to a narrow balcony. The view overlooks Blackbelly Skatepark, hiding behind dense palm trees. An observant eye will see there’s a match currently taking place.

“Here’s where the smoking is done. No exceptions, don’t stink up my curtains.” Rodi establishes, then drags his flatmate with no hesitation.

The soft couch is colour-matched to said curtains, and above it is hanged a scenic painting, of foamy saltwater crashing into cliffs. The coffee table is a bit disorderly now: random trinkets, paper wristbands for various nightclubs and spare change are scattered around, above the three books that make up the pile’s base. Bookmarks are erratically spaced out in between pages, post-its could fly from the paperback books if anyone dares touch them, and they all seem to be non-fiction titles.

 

With that out of the way, with another nudge on the tattooed skin that still needs time to heal, he’s brought in front of the farthest room. Rodi finally goes silent and slightly opens the door, only the tiniest amount, enough for Olive to peek his head through.

 

The bedroom doesn’t have any distinguishing features, besides the fact that the bed isn’t made. The double-sized bed seems a bit too much for just one person. One of the nightstands is akin to the coffee table in the previous room, in terms of messiness. You probably need a very busy nightlife to gather so many tickets and wristbands.

 

Olive’s formed a good enough impression of the place. He walks back to the luggage he's left behind and settles it next to the couch. Rodi’s looking surprised from his spot.

 

“Why’re you leaving that there?”

“So it’ll be–...” Olive blinks and sharply turns his head to face the other. “Where do you want me to sleep?”

“The bedroom? Where else?”

Olive freezes. "Ah... I actually snore, so it'd be better to..."

"You don't want that couch, trust me. It's from the previous owner and it smells weird if you get your face too close to it."

Olive snickers at first, but his stiff stance isn’t changing.

“And you?”

“Also here.” Rodi’s no longer pushing the bedroom door a little bit, but opening it up fully. “Don’t tell me you’re squeamish with this kind of shit.”

Now Olive can’t take his eyes off the wrinkled bedsheets. “No, no... I just don’t want to be a bother.”

“I’ll probably be the bigger bother.” The host is kindly bringing the luggage to the bedroom for Olive. “90% of the time this room will be yours. I sleep very late, if I even get the chance to.”

 

Any further comments are unnecessary, it seems that formalities are of no interest for them. Olive's abandoning his shallow politeness, he enters the room so he'd start unpacking soon.

 

“Let’s do the technical bits now. You’re eager for them.”

 

The host sits himself down by the nightstand and picks up the wall calendar forgotten on it.

 

"No rent involved, just a solid condition." Rodi pulls at the drawers to get a marker, removes its cap with his beak, and sloppily circles a day, about a month after the current date. “That’s how much you have. At most. ...At most! Keep that in mind.” Eye-contact was crucial for this part.

 

Olive brings out the worst case scenario for anything. “What if I won’t be able to move out ‘till then?”

With no hesitation, “Good riddance.”

 

Cold.

 

* * *

 

His bottom eyelid twitches more and more as he slides the monthly rent's price cursor lower. Alas, all he can find now for this measly budget is a garage. Maybe he can live in a garage, does it have a heater...? Olive shakes his head and closes the laptop’s lid in frustration. Looking over apartment listings killed off his drive. A sigh later, he accepts his fate and trains his psyche for the fact that he has to get employed as fast as possible. If only his recruiter would answer his damn emails.

 

He's not feeling quite at home yet. On his couch, he'd stretch and flop his legs with no trouble, though he's sitting neatly like on his first day of school. He doesn't enjoy it, and the laptop he's borrowed is starting to warm up his thighs.

 

“How’s the apartment hunting?” Rodi passes through the living room and notices a disgruntled flatmate.

Downplaying it, but not too much, Olive answers. “It’ll take time.” He dusts off the laptop and opens it once more.

 

The corner of Rodi’s mouth tugs to the side in apathy. The host continues his way to the bedroom. The green inkling cracks his index finger’s knuckle and begins scrolling again. Five listings later, Rodi comes back a little confused.

 

"Are those your plants?"

"Yes."  
"Are they gonna sit there the whole time?" He references the small space in between the bed and the window, all taken up now by the flower pots.

"They need a lot of sunlight, so..." Olive explains with a nervous smile. "Should I move them?"

Shrug. "It's your side of the bed. I don't care."

He carefully places the laptop down. "I do have a few more, though. I need your advice on where to place them."

 

The host seemed unimpressed until he saw the luggage being opened, still well stuffed with rolls of newspaper. Plant after plant after plant, Olive lovingly unwraps the rolls to unveil them, which come in all shapes, shades of green and sizes. He even brought his own bag of soil, for repotting.

 

 

 

"How the hell did you fit so many in?" Rodi's shocked and shouting.

"Patience, care, unhealthy attachment," he articulates slowly.

"Is your luggage just plants?!"  
"Oh, I've brought some shirts... I don't need much. I think I'm taking up only one shelf." Anthos brushes off some leaves, separates the stems, and keeps on unwrapping and repotting, not afraid to get his hands dirty.

The red inkling looks in the wardrobe to convince himself. "You're the first inkling I've seen to have _that few_ clothes."

"...I left a lot behind, it wasn't so easy."  
"And you brought your botanical garden instead." His carmine eyes narrow cynically.

"Now, these, I can’t leave these behind. They're more charming than some rags." Olive chants his appreciation with his face hidden between the greenery and crinkled paper.

 

Taking some interest in them, Rodi kneels besides Olive and pokes around the leaves. "Why didn't you sell them? Some look very unique, they'd make a good buck.

"I grew them all myself. This will sound lame, but I have some sort of bond with them," the confession leaves him a little embarrassed.

"They... don't do anything though."

"But they grow so beautiful." He reaches to unwrap the largest one, a small-sized palm. "It's not something instant, you need lots of patience, but it pays off."

Somewhat snarky, Rodi blows air through his nose. "Yeah, it'd get boring for me. But, if it's for the aesthetic, I can get the effort."

 

It's not that simple, it's not only for that, however, Olive won't bother himself with further clarifications. Through a bit of debate, Rodi agrees on setting the plants in the sunnier spots of the house, thus letting the collection extend outside the bedroom.

 

Soon enough, he slyly jokes around, acts like he might trip over one of them, making Anthos yelp and straighten his spine every time. It's not as funny for him, it was the first two or three times, though now he's grown incredibly tired of his trickster flatmate.

 

It's the first day only. _First day._ Exercising his self-control, he keeps himself from protesting.

 

Thankfully, Rodi gets a phone call. Shortly following it, he slips on a jacket in a rush and leaves the home hurriedly, leaving Olive alone. He didn't say anything, not even a greeting before leaving, that's how hasty he was. The green inkling is relieved about finally having his moment to relax, though he's left in an unknown place, with no indications, and he's desperately in need of them. What if he wants to open more windows? Will Rodi dislike the colder air? He won't even start thinking about needing to use the kitchen, anything he might do there can be wrong. He's left to his own devices, and he'll stick with the safest thing. Back to the laptop he goes.

 

It's funny how the world fools you into buying anything. _Beautiful studio in a quiet, historical neighbourhood, ideal for students, battlers, and professionals_. All these words for an apartment that's falling apart on itself, with no amenities in close reach. Here's another one. _Cozy one-bedroom apartment with elegant interior, negotiable contract length_ , and the place smells of mould through the photos. Other agents are more deceitful and take their photos so strategically, that once you see the actual place, you wonder how it manages to be so small. That doesn't mean you can't find good places, there are a few that will offer what Olive needs, but they come with higher prices, unsuitable for his restrictive timeframe. ...He'll lower his standards. He can't wait for this ordeal to be done, for him to keep on his life peacefully, with no more ugly surprises.

 

Some time later, he moves from the couch to the bed, slams his back into it and starts dialling up landlords with disgust plastered on his face. He brings the phone to his ear, twirls his tufts of hair on the ringing sound.

 

"Hello, good day, I'd like to ask about the apartment on Sacoglossa Street..."

 

* * *

 

Pigeons gathered around the windowsill and cooed Olive until he woke up. It's a bit late for some to rise up now, the clock reveals noon, but by his standards, it’s a decent waking hour. He shoos the birds away. Even if he went to sleep sometime after midnight, he still slept like a log, forgetting about his disoriented mind.

 

However, he's still as disoriented as before. His flatmate hasn't returned. Rodi's been gone for nearly a day's worth of hours, with no explanation whatsoever. Staying at his place might turn out to be a scam, he should’ve known.

 

But assumptions were made too early, Olive does sight him upon opening the bedroom's door, spots him laying calmly on the couch as in the first day. He'd expect an explanation by now, though Rodi is completely unfazed, as nothing seems out of place for him.

 

"You're a late riser." The red inkling smugly remarks, and flips a page in his magazine.

Sighing in relief, Anthos ignores the jab and goes for a glass of tap water. "...Where did you sleep?"

"Wow, that's a forward question."

"I mean... You vanish with no warning, and then suddenly appear."

 

Rodi's pupils dance up and down, side to side, scanning his flatmate with a thoughtful expression. He inhales and gets up from his spot delicately.

"I didn't sleep," he snakes past Olive. "Might as well do now."

Olive glances at him sheepish. "Ack. I'm sorry... You were waiting on me."

The host waves it off, does laid-back gestures with his hand, not making such a big deal out of it, and goes into hiding. Olive didn't get much cleared up. He spills whatever remained of his glass in the sink and realises, with a frown, that he didn't change out of his PJ shorts. He's the one waiting on Rodi now.

 

* * *

 

There's no better way of getting to know someone quickly than to just hang a few hours with them. When the time finds them both awake, in the same room and not directly interacting, Olive curiously inspects his flatmate. Rather nonchalant and caught up in his own matters, Rodi can't quite return the interest. He’s stuck to the laptop’s screen, with elbows glued on the kitchen table. Just to follow the model, Olive will flick through his lecture notes for the time being. Having someone else's presence in the room motivates him enough to not slack off after ten minutes.

 

Pleasantly enough, the hours they've spent in silence were cozy, shrouded in a mutual understanding that each is to their own. Olive managed to relax, to start stretching his legs on the couch and sit comfortably without a worry. He recapped the essential points for the next steps in his project, and the other finally garners the nosiness to ask about it.

 

The two begin conversing about occupations, more precisely, the way each makes themselves useful in the world. Anthos starts, as it's more likely for him to finish quicker. "Botany student in Inkopolis University", no additional frills.

 

On the flipside, his flatmate betrays a tangled history. He briefly goes through some of his past odd-jobs, before arriving to his current one. As something he described as an "intermission in his life", Rodi's handling deliveries for iShipIt, a new though fast-growing shipping company.

"It's just to fill the time, make myself useful until the next thing happens. The schedule's as flexible as I want, I can drive by the warehouse whenever and they pay me per delivery. It's not bad, honestly."

"I see," Olive nods. "Why not stick to it then?"

"It's so bland! Driving around the city when it's busy makes me want to poke my eyeballs out of boredom. Hell no. I have better things coming up."

 

Rodi continues clicking around. Once he seems informed enough, he passes the laptop to Olive. “I’ve found a good set of deliveries, they all seem to be in the north side of Inkopolis, hopefully nobody claims them until I get there.”

“Good luck,” Anthos switches to a new tab.

 

While Rodi readies himself to leave, Olive check his emails again, to make sure no message slipped under the radar. Although he constantly checks his inbox on his phone, he believes a bigger screen is more trustworthy. Nevertheless, there’s still no word from the Kelp Dome recruiters. How long has it been? Three weeks? He's itching to send another friendly reminder, though he feels anything but friendly towards them. It's just a part-time, it shouldn't be _so_ complicated! Olive can't make heads or tails of it. This is more than disappointing. He's stuck and, worst of all, dependant on their bullshit.

 

If it weren't for the possibility of Rodi walking back in, he'd get all heated up, cheeks blotted with ink from the frustration, with a good chance of tearing up. However, Olive keeps his cool, he closes his eyes and finds something to focus on. The wind, the gentle ring of the leaves and palm fronds; that should do. Thank goodness his flatmate left the balcony door open, 'cause if only one more second passed, Olive had to resort to dunking his head under the running tap.

 

The carmine-eyed inkling joins his soundscape eventually, contributing with the shuffle of his light steps. Anthos opens his eyes and sees him ready to go. At least this time, the flatmate has the tact to say goodbye.

 

Staying in this house made him restless enough yesterday, he's restless enough now, so he will leave along with Rodi. Whereas the pomegranate inkling slots his keys into his motorbike, Olive walks to the nearest bus stop. The area's really peaceful, he appreciates it, though public transit comes around less often than in the centre.

 

All the wasted time spent on waiting and sitting down during his travels, it is filled with flighty thoughts. His eyes track the motion blur forming on the other side of the glass. While the streets and buildings come and go at each second, there is only one constant, one element that stays stubbornly unmoved, and that is the sky. As always, it’s taking its time. He missed the sun's highest point of the day while sleeping, though it's not late enough for it to set and create its snug and warm light. This hour feels like a filler, it's the one when everybody's either preparing for a big night or commuting after a hard day. In all honesty, most of his days felt like this time of the day, an awkward filler. Ever since he got struck by a handful of misfortunes, he’s stuck in a limbo. He should be anticipating something bigger, better, as Rodi expects his life to be after his insignificant errands. What should he be looking forwards to, anyway? His next apartment, bought in a rush with some money made in the same rush? Worst of all, there's the slight disappointing chance of going back to his childhood home, rendering his struggle for self sufficiency fruitless. When you think about where you are in life and where you could be, if only the paths you would've taken would've been better chosen, you sink deeper into the seat and wait for the next distraction to take your mind off it.

 

That would be his destination. He gets off and instinctively walks to the right. The path's as follows: straight up, next one to the left, right through the turnstile, down the stairs, and the sea is laying upon his sight.

 

Some families and couples are packing up their umbrellas and towels, and while the beach isn’t empty, it’s aired up enough.

 

Olive ditches the flip flops in favour of the coarse sand, getting to feel it become more fine-grained and pleasing towards the shore. A wave brushes the tips of his toes, he flinches. He leaves his shirt and shoes behind on the dry and braces himself. With each step forwards, he concentrates on keeping his solid state together, to not let any speck of ink dissolve into the infinite sea.

 

Swimming is dangerous for inklings, especially dangerous in the ocean, where any ink that might spread around will be gone for good. However, Anthos is well trained and conscious enough to keep it together. Younger inklings are completely off-limits when it comes to this, as they can involuntarily switch to their squiddy selves out of excitement or fear. During this transformation, the intermediate, liquified phase presents the greatest risk in large bodies of water. Thus, Olive’s earlier summers were mostly spent in a kiddie pool, from where his mother often recollected his guts.

 

Traversing as a squid would've been more efficient, unlike as a humanoid, but he always opts for the safer methods. He’s heading like an arrow towards a black rock, seemingly floating in the middle of the sea. Once there, he exercises his arms’ strength and raises himself upon it. Saltwater snakes off his oily skin in perfectly curved lines, along his shoulders, back and hands. It reaches the rock, and its path becomes jagged, geometrical. Olive unwinds and lays himself on the sun-warmed rock.

 

It’s widely known that most water is too polluted for anyone's safety. Nevertheless, this little gulf in Inkopolis still contains crystalline waters, of which Anthos learned about during his courses. The bright corals found at the bottom of the sea, pretty observable from where he sits, survived the toxicity and kept the waters clear enough for them to spread. It is quite the miracle, as very few spots like this still exist around the world.

 

Right here's his quiet haven, where he retreats to do some peacemaking with himself. Outside the university’s greenhouse, away from the responsibility of his own plants and the people he stretched some nerves with, there’s no care in the world so far from the others. He's smiling to himself.

 

His earlier thread of thought picks up again. There's nothing exciting in particular to look forwards to, indeed, but that's okay. Anything he lives through, it’s no filler. He's simply living for the sake of living, and that's a gift from the heavens. The sole fact that he's chosen to be on this random rock in the middle of the ocean, seeking a happier state, it proves that he's doing alright, and he's not such a lost cause. He can get back on his feet. Furthermore, he should be grateful for the opportunity he's been given. Rodi's forcing out a trace of kindness through his favour.

 

And then, when the world is dearest to you, those oh so familiar squawks make their appearance. His nemeses, the ones that disturb his sleep at dawn, the _seagulls_. They're flying all over the place.

 

Fuck the seagulls. They cackle at his laughable state, they sweep and circle around his claimed spot, and they make him raise in caution. How dare those seagulls.

 

 

 

It takes a hot minute for the birds to stop making such a ruckus and settle down, either next to Olive or on the water. He would've loved that without all the noise, _thank you._

 

* * *

 

By late evening, there’s a slight stir caused by his flatmate’s fast pacing around the house.

 

Planting himself in the kitchenette, where the only adequately-sized table is found, Anthos decided to fill in some more pages of his notebook. This patterned notebook is a gift from Pepper, from about two years ago, from when he turned sixteen. He's been reluctant to write in it until recently. It has a very nice, sturdy cover, that feels like suede under his fingers, and he wanted to keep it for something special. Afterwards, uni rolled by, and he needed something to write into, so it didn't end up as special as he thought. Even so, it's his handy all-in-one item, for anything from shopping lists to passages of pretty words.

 

It's getting harder to concentrate on his scribbling with the persistent come-and-go happening besides. Rodi’s readying himself for a night out, presumably, as he’s changed out of his earlier outfit. He leaves a strong, citrusy scent trail behind, making Olive sneeze every time he passes him. His fine sense of smell throws him off.

 

The pomegranate inkling neatens the collar of his jacket in the hallway mirror, though, as if remembering something, he turns to face Olive.

“You wanna tag along?”

Anthos raises his head out of his notebook. “What? Where?”

“Downtown. We can chat, have a drink, whatever. Come with me.”

“Err. You can go alone.” Olive says as he keeps scratching the pencil on the paper. The lead breaks. He sighs.

 

He didn’t bring a sharpener. And considering how dull it would also be to stay all alone in this unfamiliar house, again, for another whole night, he changes his answer. Today's trip to the beach helped, and by assumption, this can also be worth a shot. Rodi’s still pacing around the house. Warming up shouldn’t cause harm. Right before Rodi jingles his keys, he raises his voice.

 

“Actually... never mind. Do I have time to get ready?”

As expected, Rodi smiles wide, before returning to his characteristic grin. “Yeah. Don’t make me wait for too long.”

 

Four floors downstairs later, Olive’s willingness diminishes. They’re not going to have a pleasant walk or take public transportation, contrary to his belief. Instead, his flatmate’s powerhouse of a bike will take them there.

 

“Hold tight.” Rodi warns before warming up the motorbike’s engine.

 

Olive’s been stressing about the idea ever since he had the fuchsia bike in his sight.

 

“Please go slow. Super slow.”

“I can’t go too slow, then it won’t move!” The red inkling twists his wrist and the engine purrs.

 

Olive’s already getting higher ink pressure from the motor’s rumble, but his fears paralyse him when Rodi budges from the parking spot and begins accelerating through the narrow street, and so suddenly.

 

This is how he dies, two idiots on a speeding chunk of aluminium. And if not now, probably on the way back. He grips onto Rodi like onto his life, though, surprisingly, through his closed eyes, the experience isn’t as extreme as he thought. He feels the wind somewhat brush his tentacles, so he dares to open his eyes. Then panic settles, his sight isn’t used to the fast movement, the situation amplifies in his brain, and he sticks his head into the driver’s back, shutting his lids even tighter. Olive knows he’s a bit of a scaredy cat when it comes to new experiences. He’s not looking forwards to the headache at the place of arrival. If he weren’t terrified, he’d pay attention to how pleasantly earthy Rodi’s leather jacket smelled. It's a shame he’s soiling it with his sweating forehead.

 

Cherry on top, at the end of it all, Rodi parks with a slight skid. That’s when Olive yelps, and keeps himself from further distressed noises, as they stopped moving.

 

“Sorry for the last bit. Habit.”

“I should’ve asked if you could drive first.” Olive spews a tad angry.

“Duh! I even went smoothly for you. Look! Do you want me to show the incredible speed you’ve been subjected to?”

To prove his point, Rodi clicks on a button next to the speed dials, to display the average speed of his journey.

Olive looks over his shoulder and hesitates. “...That’s not much. Is it broken?”

“No. You just need two more spins and you’ll start liking it.”

 

Rodi dismounts and pulls the keys from his bright pink steed.

“Look around next time, and admire the lights and shadows, in all their colourful glory.”

 

 

 

The city’s centre turns anew in the night. Dim alleyways are livened up by glaring neons and advertisements. Street fashion is on display on every passer-by. Sequins and satin are in trend now, they keep glittering over the countless lights. The flashiness of the street they’re on doesn’t help with the nauseating feeling Olive got from the scare, but it takes his mind off it. The two spend a moment looking at the lively motion and commotion of the street, which brings a bit more energy in Olive’s heart. Creatures are scurrying from one pub to another, either in large, loudmouthed groups or by themselves.

Rodi doesn’t distance himself until his flatmate gets on his shaky feet, and a warm pat on his back gets him walking normal again.

 

“If there’s a place that strikes you fancy, tell me. Otherwise, I’ll lead.” Rodi keeps the same pace Olive has. He looks straight forwards whilst talking.

“I haven’t been on this street before. You know best.”

 

Anthos is wordlessly led by Rodi. They do pass some questionable businesses with intimidating creatures loitering outside them, though they don’t mean trouble. Once you emphasise even in the slightest with the nightlife crowd, nothing comes off as unnerving anymore. Olive got into that habit lately, it does help with some of his walks at night.

 

Rodi’s shortcuts are clever, they reach their destination in short time.

 

He thought he’d be dragged to a low end bar. In fact, they enter a chic cocktail lounge, with set-back music and lighting. The path was rather confusing to get here, though it’s rewarding. It’s alike a gem hidden in between rubble. It’s not as lively as the main street, though it has a fair share of clientele. Olive unexpectedly relaxes his shoulders. He gets a peculiar feeling upon walking further into the room, as if he was already acquainted to the place. It’s paradoxically familiar, even if it's the first time he sets foot here. He enjoys that. Part of him is selfish enough to make him slowly walk like he's owning the place.

 

They briefly stop their aimless walk, for Rodi to present their sitting choices. “Table, bar? I always like bar.”

“Then let’s sit there.”

 

So be it. The bar itself is bang in the middle of the room, in a circular format. With no corners to separate them, the folks surrounding the counter are predisposed to mingling. The two flatmates twist around the leather stools, to rest their arms on the black, glittery counter. Rodi’s digging his pockets for his wallet, meanwhile, Olive takes in the surroundings. Everything's so neat and thoughtfully placed, all the furniture is carefully crafted. It’s elegant, though not totally blinged out. Is this what they call high living? He wouldn’t mind a life like this.

 

Olive's zoned out, a soft elbow brings him back. The pomegranate inkling drags a menu closer.

"Have you decided on something?" Rodi pushes onto the counter to turn the stool.

"...Just get me what you'll get."

"My, you're giving me a lot of choices to handle tonight." After flipping the cardstock menu twice, he starts pointing insistently at a cocktail. “Ohhh, check this out. Look. Mimosa. You seem obsessed with flowers. That’s kinda also a flower, you know.”

He attempts to woo Olive, but it falls rather short. The green inkling shoots a very deadpan look.

“I go to university to fucking study plants.”

“Don’t say you don’t appreciate a mortal for knowing his flowers.”

“If you know more than a common name, maybe.”

“Well, you see...” Rodi’s fingers do a little walk to Olive’s arm. “When you want to touch one of its leaves...” The fingers reach higher and higher up on his arm. “it wants to scrunch up on itself...”

He keeps on his charade until his fingers give a little tickle on Olive’s neck. Olive backs off giggling.

“...Just like you did now!”

Anthos hides his ticklish spot with his hand, looking amused. “Not too scientific, but I like the presentation.”

 

Seeing he managed to turn the situation to his advantage, Rodi turns to the bar and orders a Mimosa for Olive. In a few strategic twirls of the bartender’s fingers around the bottles, the drink takes shape. A tall flute, garnished with orange slices, glows before the two.

 

“I like to call that _fancy orange juice_.”

“Fancy, definitely.” Olive lightly holds his champagne flute, loving its sparkly, golden-orange shine, and gives it a small sip. "You're not getting anything?"

"Nah. I'm driving anyway."

Olive bashfully nods, how could he forget? He was cursing at him for his driving after all. He tries changing the subject.

“This isn't a bad place, I’m pleasantly surprised.”

“Oh, yes. I’ve gotten to know a bunch of bars by heart, but I always treat myself to this one. Not too often, though, It’s got some stupid prices.”

“And... Is this how you spend your nights?” He places the flute down.

“There’s another one where I’m good friends with the owner, that’s my first pick, but it's not as impressive. You should still see it, I’ll show you another day–”

“No, no, like, always out in the night? Because I feel like I’ll have to sit at home alone for more than one evening.”

Rodi kneads his knuckles. “Mostly...? It turned into a little ritual over time. If I don’t feel up to it, then I don’t. But I get bored easily at home, being all alone, I’d rather have company.”

That doesn't hold anymore. "And now, that I invaded your place..."

"Yeah, I have your presence, for the time being. I might end up happy enough with _just_ your company, that'd be impressive."

 

Olive checks the time, Rodi doesn’t cease pinning his stare on him. When Anthos turns to face him, he suddenly looks at his hands. Which is odd, his eyes are always set in place when he converses, but Rodi felt he needed to avert his look. After a pause of fiddling with his fingers and nails, he speaks.

 

“I should say this. I feel bad for my fuck up, back then in the tourney. I don’t usually act like this. I don’t like stirring up a fight, but I get cranky when I’m stressed.” There’s a brief pause. “I’ve been lately.”

Oh, he can sympathise. In hopes to bring the other up, Olive turns cheeky. “Well, I’m over it by now. I can take some punches, but no more squelchers in the head.”

Rodi picks up the banter and blows air through his nose. Though, he picks up more than that.

“Of course you’re over it. You’ve acting nice so you won't sleep on the streets.”

"...So you think?” Olive's ink goes a bit cold. ”Do you feel taken advantage of?"

"Not at all. I would've also taken the opportunity in your place. Besides, you're not the only opportunist, I'm also gaining something here."

 

That response didn't rub him the right way. Olive goes back to his glass with no hesitation. What was in it, anyway? It's gone now.

 

"Could I ask what?" He chuckles with his leafy eyes in the ground.

Rodi props his head in one hand. "Again, it's your good company. Don't sweat."

"You seem to have company, or so I guess. You ran off last night and didn't say anything about it in the morning."

"That? I helped a buddy set up a stage, it was for a show at some other place. I got to stay after, it wasn't that great, I got kinda bored and ended up alone after everyone got drunk or left."

Olive nods in understanding, a little forlorn himself. "That's bad."

 

They paused on a rather bleak note, and they're looking around, as if to see if anything interesting's around them. Now Rodi’s changing the subject towards his curiosities.

 

“How did you end up with no place to stay anyway? Got kicked out by your parents?”

“No, God no. I’m just dumb. I wasn’t wise with my spending, I applied way too late for jobs, and everything that’s bad happened at the same time. The apartment deal was a disaster. The guy who owned the apartment, he called for rent on random days and, obviously, I couldn't readily serve that on a platter whenever he felt like it.”

"How the hell?"

Olive drags his palm over his face, embarrassed of his shitty decisions. "I haven't done any contract, or anything legit, which I really should've."

“And how come you’d stay at a stranger, and not a friend or family?”

“I would've been on short notice. Besides, they’re not so available.”

Rodi drawls with a tinge of sadness. "You can't really rely on anyone, can you?"

"No, it's not about that..." He cools down and shifts on his seat. "Right now, I can try relying on you, but, that's a lot to ask for someone I just met."

"That’s not a big deal, I've had people asking for bigger things after just meeting me." Rodi casually admits. "I have an idea, but I need your input."

"Go on."

"Shouldn't we just rely on each other? For a little while?"

On a light-hearted tone, Olive contradicts. “At this point, I wouldn’t mind. But can I trust you, after what happened? Who knows when you'll get cranky again."

The other pauses to think and look away, and you can see his tongue sliding on his fangs through his closed mouth. He returns to the discussion with a bit of nerve. "Right. I get it. Do you want to settle peace? Truce?"

The deeper voice rings with utmost confusion: "...Truce??"

 

And, in an instant, Olive sees Rodi stretch up to his pair of lips, without leaving his seat. There’s contact. Rodi's own lips were pleasingly smooth and velvety, sending off subtle warmth through the taller inkling's. That shows how at peace he decides to get with Olive. It's rather quick, but he knows how to kiss.

 

Wide-eyed and in surprise, Olive vocalises some vowels before stringing actual words. “Is this your idea of truce?!”

“Yes. I don’t know better.” Rodi utters with brutal honesty.

 

Things are getting uncomfortably quiet again. Neither know what to say anymore. All Olive does is hover his fingers lightly over his lips, as they’ve strangely got pins and needles. That's a first. What should he even feel? What does the other feel? Probably from acting too brash, Rodi goes a little pouty and starts scanning through the drinks menu again, avoiding any eye contact whilst Olive stays quiet. Anthos can’t even be mad, even if his intonation betrayed irritation. He’s only left in awe.

 

Rodi's impatient for a reaction, anything, knowing that he might've pushed it too far. He stays wry, nevertheless. "So? Did I blow your socks off?"

“I’ve never met someone as assertive,” is the first thing that comes out of his mind.

“Uh huh. I’m a little too much. I end up overbearing.”

 

There’s a dormant overbearingness in Olive’s heart too. He doesn’t see it as a flaw, it’s a challenging strength.

 

Very aware of his impulsiveness, and noticing so much holding back from Olive, he starts rambling. "Say what you honestly think, I really don't care. Either way, I'll be oh so fine. You'll either find me an appalling fuckboy and move out faster, which is good, or we're getting a thing going, which is also good."

Olive stutters, with a rather hopeless gaze. “I wish I had your guts.”

Finally, the red eyes shoot upwards curiously, suddenly, and they could put Anthos on flames. "They're there, who's stopping you?"

"Nothing. No one." A spark of realisation glows in Olive's own eyes. He never thought of being more gutsy until seeing this man.

 

What a refreshing, scary change of pace would that be. Stepping his sole a bit harder on the ground? Biting the forbidden apple? Gone would be his days of being put on the back burner, simply because he was comfortable being so passive, and so fearful of conflict. Conflict sounds inciting, conflict sounds alluring, and conflict is the man in front of him, in his entirety.

 

They turn their faces to one another, presenting serious expressions, as if a bigger decision is awaiting its resolution. Olive's not backing off, and he's intrigued where all of it will go, if it's okay with him being a bit of a slow burner.

 

"I'll try to get used to it." Olive warmly intonates.

 

Rodi's unwinding his shoulders. He appears slightly more at peace. “Whatever you get out of this entire night, I need you to remember one thing. You don’t owe me anything, and I don’t owe you anything more besides a place to sleep, all because of my stupid mistake.”

Olive rubs the stem of his empty glass with his fingers, staring at it from the side. “I’ll owe you at least some thanks.”

 

* * *

 

They can't let the entire night become absolutely unbearable after one awkward bump, the conversations eventually wind along after a few more glasses and bring them to certain common points. Olive also learns a bit more about his flatmate. Rodi's last name is Isandro, there's nearly a year difference in between them. He went to the same festival as Olive did last summer, where he was forcefully dragged in by Pepper. They have similar taste in both music and food, things that are very close to Olive’s heart. Though the other, in a weird twist of fate, is not fond of ice cream. More for Olive, then.

 

All in all, Rodi's warming up to vaguely personal questions, though he will be more tempted to ramble on forever about a bunch of random topics. That's pretty much what Olive can take from their discussions, as he's been a bit overloaded with information for some hours.

 

They find themselves outside the bar, as it was quite hot inside. It got crowded as the night went on. Olive's perching himself on the brick wall's protruding base, Rodi's circling in front of him, scanning the passing crowds and his shoes in boredom. He digs at his pockets and takes out a pack of slim cigarettes. He rattles it for the lighter inside and slips a cig in between his lips.

 

He cups his hand around its free end as he tries to light it. "Need one?"

"Thanks, not now, I'm trying my best to keep it light. I found out I smoke only when I'm stressed."

"Haven't I stressed you enough?" Rodi grins with the filter in between his teeth. Content of amusing Olive, finding himself taking pleasure in his laugh more and more, he turns with satisfaction and slightly distances himself to detour the smoke from his flatmate’s face.

 

Whatever witty comment Isandro has, Olive breaks out in a short burst of laughter, and he's finally taking notice of that. He feels a bit dumb, though happiness makes anyone dumb down. It wasn't a mistake going out, even with the tangled moments, because Anthos is enjoying himself more than he though he would. His preconception held that a night out gets less interesting, or fun, with less people in the group, and he's now convinced otherwise. Rodi’s an entertainer.

 

There's something flickering above their heads. The pomegranate inkling looks up with irked eyebrows. The neon sign above them is starting to give up. It's buzzing, it doesn't shine its hot pink light as vividly as a few minutes ago and it keeps strobing. Through its annoyance, it lets Olive zone out again. His subconscious didn't brush off what happened earlier. He’s been constantly weighting in the wins and losses of this, the advantages and disadvantages, though he always reaches an unrelated conclusion. What’s the point of it? This is blatant overthinking. He never got the chance to go outside the lines, this is his chance. And a single question itches his mind, what if he were to do it again? He likes a clean start.

 

He waits for Rodi to squish the stub and face him in his pacing. The neon seems to have come back to life. He swallows his pride and asks peculiarly, out of the blue:

 

“Could you kiss me?”

And Rodi gladly complies.

 

 

It comes back again, the velvety feeling he had earlier feels a little bit warmer, surer, more calculated. When it’s not a weird surprise, Anthos loves it. He’s an earthy creature, no wonder he’s more at home when it comes to tangible matters.

 

When their lips part, with his eyes still closed, Olive whispers: “...Again.”

This time, Rodi returns to his mouth more determined to impress, takes Olive’s head in his hands and tilts it for a deeper kiss. Their fangs hit a bit, Olive’s glad the kiss is no longer calculated, but instinctual. He gives back as much as he gets, his heart suddenly loves exploring someone new.

 

There might be chemistry. Conversations are great, but Olive feels he can get way more up close and personal through their kiss. It communicates so much more through the little motions and pacing, and the end never leaves him more confused than in the beginning. As much as Rodi insists on the fact that Olive's stay will be very short, the way he's invested in the kiss might tell otherwise. Whenever Rodi decides for it to be done, he backs off slowly, to let the warmer air rest between the two for a little longer.

 

Isandro can read off the ecstasy on the other’s face. “That was sweet. What for?”

Olive unintentionally bursts into laughter as soon as he tries to speak. He’s prompted to answer too soon after a long smooch. “Sorry! I kinda wanted to redo that, I got flustered before. Now we’re on a good foot.”

The red inkling nods. “If we’re on a good foot, then we can keep walking.”

 

He remains seated, as Rodi takes a few bouncy steps back, looking to his side and behind, as if he’s planning his next route.

 

“Will you walk alongside me?”

Olive hasn’t had a long night in a while. “I can try.”

 

Rodi stretches his arms for Olive to grab while he gets up. Anthos doesn’t know where he will be lead to, but, yes, he will walk.

 

The two did wander the city with no specific destination. They were both set in the mood for new sights, tastes and sounds, and the night was teeming with these. Points of interest include late-night food shacks, night clubs with distinctive musical preferences and intricate bars with diabetes-inducing cocktails.

 

Hours and hours later, with their legs sore and eyes unaccommodated to the bright interior lightbulbs, they find retreat back in the apartment. Olive was hit by drowsiness on the way back home, so he wasn't as vocal about the motorbike ride. However, his flatmate also mellowed down by the end, and was especially careful not to make any noise with locking the door. He seems mindful of his neighbours.

 

* * *

 

Behold, Anthos woke up late again.

 

He's slithering languidly out the bed, the sheets cling on his feet for a little longer, he pulls the wardrobe’s door for a shirt and lazily buttons in one spot. The unbreathable temperatures got him out of bed, and he soon enough discovers that somebody closed the windows during the night, a fatal mistake in the hottest days of the year. He opens them back and lets the air circulate again.

 

He drags the fan out from hiding and plugs it in. As soon as it’s on, Olive plants himself in front of it and vegetates away. He’s cooling down, things get comfortable again, and he closes his eyes, for only a few more drowsy minutes in front of the fan.

 

With nothing to see or do, his mind’s sensors go haywire with images from yesterday, played in perfect chronological order. And the sequence reaches that point, past their arrival. And the scalding ink rushes to his extremities. The heat comes around again, it creeps in his cheeks and collarbones, and he has to turn the fan a step higher.

 

Shit.

 

The rest of the night went something like this.

 

Nothing interesting at first, Rodi gets his solitary quality time, Olive does his nightly routine, skin care and all. "Don't wait on me," Rodi says. He's tucking in way later. Fair, Olive thinks. He can fall asleep in peace when alone.

 

That is not the case. It's sort of weird when his flatmate joins him in bed, at hours that reveal neither night or dawn, and Olive has to act asleep. To add even more to the effect, to the point of overblowing it, he tosses when Isandro tilts the mattress under his weight. The cheeky facade worked on the red inkling. He's looking apologetic through his surprise, he did not expect Olive to "awake _"_ from his feathery movements in the dark.

 

Though, he's no idiot.

 

"You said you snored."

Olive opens his shutters instantly. "...Huh?"

"I can hear everything on the balcony from here. You said you snored, and I don't think you do."

"My girlfriend used to complain about it..." He mindlessly scratches his eyebrow, then jolts on his elbows. "Wait, you heard shit?"

"But there was no snoring." Rodi smirks widely.

 

This is terrible. He heard him talk to himself for a good hour. He swears he's no lunatic, it's something he picked up while living alone. It made him extra self-conscious.

 

"That's creepy, man! Don't listen on me!"

"I'm not listening on you! It just so happens my left ear's next to this window when I'm outside."

 

Alike a child, Olive pouts in annoyance and specifically gets up to shut the window. (He finally remembers who closed the window, it was him and his stupidity.)

 

Rodi's back to his neutral face, he rests his head on his propped hand. "Dunno if that does much, I'm already here. Also, I _only_  said I haven't heard you snore. In fact, I didn't hear anything."

" _Dammit_ ," he whispered under his breath. Why did he do that, anyway? In defeat, he flops back in bed. With his face buried in the sheets, he admits. "I do snore, when I _do_ fall asleep." His voice is nasal from squishing his nose.

 

The red-inked man briefly raises an eyebrow. His eyes are a tad more open than usual, they inspect Olive's figure, veiled in an airy summer shirt. It's not one that screams "dad shirt" for once. As much as Olive ponders and wonders over Rodi, it's also happening in vice-versa.

 

"You also had trouble sleeping last night?"

Anthos simply rolls his face to the side, regaining his appreciation for fresh air. "No, surprisingly. I'm acting all weird."

"That's fine. If you're sleepless, I can hang around more," Rodi reassures, so that his flatmate won't feel bad for keeping him up.

An approving hum sounds from below.

He toys with his long nails, and his often loud voice is quieter and warmer. "Thanks for coming with me. You're a great presence."

  
Olive keeps himself from asking _"Am I?"; Of course you are, you clown._ That's exactly why he has exactly one close friend, one that stirs up all the action, just as...

 

"Oh, no, you brought the ideas, I rolled. I had lots of fun, I really needed this," Olive gets on his bum and gestures very descriptively with his hands.

"Me too."

His dull sight meets a kinder expression, he smiles briefly. "Thank you."

"Thank _you_." Rodi pronounces harder.

 

This quickly turned into gratitude olympics.

 

"No, _I_ thank you. You literally saved my dumb ass. I'm no longer in my sorry state, that's amazing. Not only that, but I feel like I'm in a better space. I can concentrate on getting back on track without worrying about the rest. Like, come on, I haven't done as much for you."

The carmine eyes narrow even more. "If only you knew!"

 

Isandro gets on his knees, to maintain the same eye-level as he speaks. The streetlights outside do enough for them to see each other.

 

"You won't believe, I'm finally seeing some light at the end of the crappy tunnel I've been walking in for months. I'm doing something for someone, and not only for myself. If I have a real purpose, even if it's only hosting you for a while, it's enough to get me to better times."

The younger inkling listens attentively, waits for the other to express something he's visibly keeping himself from saying. Rodi's looking down, slightly giggly and displaying a wry expression for himself.

"...And, if I'm gonna be honest all the way, I've fallen a bit for you. I've met lots of guys, and you're alluring! Effortlessly alluring!" he's quite thrilled through his tone.

 

The most intense flush runs along Olive's cheeks. He hides it behind cupped hands, which rub along his eyes. He shushes through his fangs: " _Oh my god..._ "

 

They both start laughing. They laugh at themselves, at how, from all that could've happened, this happened. It's all clumsy and left-handed. Through the snorts, Rodi gently pulls Olive's hands away, to see his ever twinkling eyes, which can't stay open. The laughs are anything but dainty, and Olive lets his back fall behind, dragging the other along. All the cackling was quite the workout, they're not steering away from laying one over the other. Rodi's smaller figure fits well over Olive's.

 

"Oh man, is that so?" is Olive's half-hearted tease.

"I don't even know why you're acting surprised! Who kissed me twice tonight?" the red inkling slides his hands higher, on the other's shoulders.

 

Make that thrice, Anthos goes for the lips again. The feedback's instant, the pomegranate inkling eagerly pushes back. Their giddiness tones down and a more enamoured state finds its place, for as long as their pause after the kiss takes.

 

Funny enough, from the nonchalant creature that he is, Isandro's now melted onto Olive. He's aware of his weakness. "...Need I say more?"

"Ah, I guess that's how it'll go," he settles. Olive's dug his hands under his buddy's shirt, it's a joy for him to glide his fingers on uncharted territory.

 

And the more time he spends learning the new silhouette, the more he rolls into divergent thoughts. It's all good fun for now, but in his search for independence, he's budding a dependance on a new person. He agreed on no more dilly-dally infatuations, but there's nothing more beautiful and curious than two beings dancing around a feeling. His familiar worry boils up to the surface, and Rodi notices how the hand on his back stopped sailing and started tensing. He raises his puzzled head to look into Olive's eyes.

 

The deeper voice's less confident. “You see, Rodi, I don’t need only a roof above my head. It does solve a big issue, sure, but it won’t solve my biggest issue. I do... I need someone besides me. Even just a little, because I get so lost, I end up in these situations, and I’m trying to be less of a bother for the people around me.”

 

He doesn’t say a word. He blinks slowly, before the heavy lids slide shut. He dives into Olive’s chest head first, lips first, wherever the shirt exposes some bare skin. Let him be bothered, he'd love it. Olive indulges into the affection. However, as sweet as it is, he can’t enjoy the lips on his skin fully, his brow is furrowed from the doubts that itch his tongue.

 

“When I think of this down the road... You want something fleeting, while I can’t guarantee it.”

Rodi speaks through his dragging lips. “I have nothing to lose.”

 

But does Olive also have nothing to lose? While his material state leaves a lot to desire, he’s still tied to some few, though very important people in his life, and this sole fact makes his intuition click. No wonder he’d bring strangers in his home with little afterthought, Rodi’s likely lonely, even lonelier than a post-breakup Anthos.

 

Olive’s not a lesser, unlike any preconceptions. It’s not like he’s getting used here. On the contrary, these two men will _help_ (a nicer way to say _use_ ) each other to resolve whatever inconveniences they’ve had. As he heard before, shyness only brings starvation.

 

“Let me ask something forward, for real now.”

Rodi stops sailing his lips on the skin.

"You also needed a shag, didn't you?" Olive's been sniffing Rodi's intentions since the start, however, he couldn't muster the confidence to bet on it.

His fangs hit the skin in a complacent smirk, before he puffs his nose. "I can’t deny."

A breathy laughter later, Olive rolls his head back in ease. They finally know something concrete. "Fuck it. Good to finally know."

“Should I go on?”

“Please.”

 


	3. YOUR PONYTAIL'S RINGING OUT

_(We’re thick as thieves, I’m on my knees.  
_ _My heart moves in a way I can’t explain.)_

 

His head rolled back on the mattress during his reconstruction. His extremities are a tad tingly, but a shake gets rid of the pins and needles. The fan aired the room alright. Olive’s dried up eyes spot the calendar's pages, fluttering in mockery. Four weeks or so: he should make the most of them, or, even better, make use of less.

 

With a huff, he stretches and traces a beeline towards the kitchen. This day'll be less chaotic, he'll focus on his priorities. His flatmate's already up and settled at the table, and from there rings a warm voice.

 

"You a'ight?" Rodi shifts on his chair.

"Yeah, of course," Olive coos.

 

He’s floaty, he might look too zoned out, so he drags his feet to the coffeemaker. Olive seldom goes for coffee, he'd rather opt for a hearty breakfast, but a bit of caffeine feels just right for this morning. Or noon. He'll wordlessly help himself. The other doesn't seem to mind. Raised with good manners, he offers to refill the other's mug, though Rodi politely refuses. He’s still got a little left at the bottom of the mug.

 

For whatever innate reason, Olive takes some defensive distance from the other, he vaguely leans on the counter, after dusting the crumbs off. He can't quite bring himself to sit at the same table as his red inked flatmate, who's once more too preoccupied by his own matters, though Anthos will stare him down with squinty eyes.

 

His long-established ideals have suddenly fallen on themselves. His dreamy candlelit date turned out to be neon-lit. His old-fashioned love letters are now spontaneous confessions made in an urge for touch. And his hour that feels like a second became a day that lasted a week.

 

Oh no, where have you gone, he keeps kicking himself. He’s overly aware how much he liked spending the night with this man, and how he’d do it again. He’s oddly proud and pleased, even throughout his reticence towards a new infatuation. Love’s too taxing and time consuming for his current state, and he knows he could slip in and fall too hard. There’s a little fight going in between his ego and his eros, and neither sides show signs of letting from themselves. He's looking quite the slop, he obviously buttoned his shirt in the wrong spot and his puffy tentacles are tied wrong, fall all over the place, but he couldn't care less. He's serene in this state, he regards with satisfaction how he's nothing different from his flatmate, and they know very well they did this to each other.

 

They slip each other looks from under their mugs, very knowing, slightly longing. They’re done with repaying mistakes, they’re currently brewing some fancy for one another. For reassurance only, it probably won't be anything too serious, it’s still as shallow and indulgent as any hookup can get. That doesn't mean it's not inciting enough for his little mind, already burdened with more than it can handle. Speaking of...

 

“Do you need to go out today? ‘Cause I don’t know if I should leave the keys or not,” Rodi asks.

“I've arranged some house viewings, actually,” he swirls the mug in front of his chest.

“Great. ‘Till when?”

“Starts in an hour. Shouldn’t take too long, I suppose.”

“Okay, then you can take 'em,” Rodi twists the keyring and frees the house's keys from the motorcycle ones. He leaves them on the table. “Don’t lose them, or we'll cuddle for some warmth outside tonight,” he cheeks.

"Warmth? In the goddamn middle of the summer? Isn't there enough?" Olive's a bit stumped through his rebuttal.

 

Isandro does nothing more but grin even wider, he's glad that someone who's able to handle his playful scoff moved in.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s one of his mother’s stupid superstitions, but he thinks it’s unlucky to look behind when leaving from somewhere. Yet, Anthos meekly stretches his neck behind, as he walks away from the building where he’s had his last viewing. That apartment was the most promising one so far, and when he places it in the grander scheme, it's an attainable goal. Not perfect, but satisfactory, though there's one more to see and he won't draw conclusions yet. While he has to move fast, he doesn't want anymore rushed decisions. He hates rush. Hates it so much, that everything that contains the word "rush" jerks a sour reaction out of him.

 

For example: it's rush hour, and everybody's sweating. It's smelling of canned fish and soggy gone off seaweed in the bus, and Olive tries his best not to gag in his transit. Remember when he said it shouldn't take long? He didn't take the traffic into account. As much as he appreciates Inkopolis and the advantages of living in the heart of the capital, he grows real tired real fast of the hubbub. Maybe his childhood home found on the outskirts is to blame, it was dozens decibels quieter and he'd get lost in the neighbours' gardens, not in between skyscrapers.

 

When he gets back, he realises a little scornful that none of those seen today could beat what Rodi's apartment already has to offer, and his sets the bar _not that high_. When you think about it, you probably can't cook chips in it without making the entire house smell of oil, and still, his flatmate manages to keep it breathable and welcoming. You start forgetting you're in those 25 square meters demo houses in Inkea, the ever-popular retail chain built on mass-produced furniture that will look 3 years old in 3 months.

 

After half an hour of loafing around, Anthos takes advantage of the fact that Rodi's gone for most of the day. It's not bothering him, it only means he’s able to fully concentrate on his final project. It’s something ongoing for a few months, he documents the growth of a plant of his choice.

 

The subject is a small-sized palm, which he carries in his arms with pride. This species is a fast grower, so his report should give a lot of insight. He settles the flowerpot on the coffee table, for the convenience the living room offers, and commences writing the last few pages of his report over a clipboard. Moving his leafy companion in between houses gave it some damage, some fronds bent and broke off in the process, however, he hopes the lecturer will understand the situation. Other than that, it’s as freshly green as ever, there are no dry or sunburnt spots, neither is it sagging or rotting from being overwatered.

 

He’s done his best, he’ll write the overview and conclusion at a later date. Besides, he lost the track of time. The next thing you know, his flatmate's at the door. He knocks a little tune, some beat from a Hightide Era song you always hear on the radio, and Olive lets him in. Rodi greets with a nod and settles his groceries on the table. Then he plays the stern host.

 

“Why is that there?”

“What?”

“The plant? Won't it leave dirt on the table?”

“It won’t. It has a dish below.” Olive points the obvious out.

 

Half convinced, Rodi switches his focus, goes back to the groceries.

 

“You're already moving 'em around?” The red inkling speaks from the fridge, while stuffing it.

“It's for my final project, I’ll move it back after writing,” he paces around the table. His stomach's suddenly grumbling.

“I thought you were done with studying.”

“With lectures, yes, for some while. I still have this due in a week. It’s nearly finished.”

 

His flatmate takes a seat at the kitchen table, while balancing a bowl of fruits. He plans to go through the entire thing, equipped with a knife and a half-full jar of honey. Anthos would love a light and healthy dinner like that, however, he should remember to eat in the first place. How can a foodie forget such a thing? With so many thoughts and cravings for food, his stomach starts rumbling even more. He curls his spine in a little, hoping it’d quiet down.

 

“You should get something too, it’s getting too noisy,” his flatmate’s making a subtle observation. It doesn’t amuse Olive much.

 

This'll be somewhat embarrassing, he stalled using it until the last moment. Takes a while to find it, but Olive resorts to that granola bar he kept for emergencies.

 

"Is that all your dinner? Some bird food?"

“...Maybe so,” he stubbornly holds on it.

 

A frown later, Rodi gets up, very set on getting something out the fridge. “I’m not hoarding my food, you know. You can have anything from here, these always go out of date.” He throws a ready meal in Olive’s direction. It nearly falls on the floor as Anthos fumbles with catching.

“You don't have to... I appreciate the generosity, but I feel like I should get my own food.”

"I'll share. Keep the cash for the house.”

 

Rather humbled, Olive hesitantly puts the box in the microwave and sets it on high, for 3 minutes. While that spins, with nothing better to watch, he’s getting pretty captivated about Rodi's perfect spirals made from fruit peels. He wields the sharpened knife with no stress. The fruity scent reaches the younger inkling, and he's getting some itches. His nose might've become too sensitive since Rodi dunked a whole bottle of perfume onto his clothes yesterday. And he got so close, he'd felt it the whole night, until he wouldn't notice other scents anymore.

 

All the goodness he's receiving from someone so foreign to him, he's still unable to make heads or tails of it, and wether he should believe there's merely an exchange of interests in this. He hopes it's something a bit more sincere. He only hopes there's something genuine behind Rodi's actions, and that his behaviour is truly what he makes to be. It wouldn't be fun to get sucker punched at the end and realise you've been lied to all the time, that all this forced kindness masks his complete apathy. He's already found this anecdote in June.

 

The microwave's ding makes him flinch a little, it pulls him back into the current moment. Olive settles at the table, and begins poking around the meal. It’s too steamy for now, he’ll wait some more.

 

“Did you get any updates on work?” Rodi asks in a monotone voice.

“I’m waiting. And waiting...” Before sighing out of exasperation, Olive circles his fingers over his temples. "Fuck's sake. I shouldn't be wasting anymore time.”

His flatmate sighs in sympathy. “Look... I know you can’t get much from it, but try battling.”

“I’m horrid at that, if I go all alone. I’ll need someone with me.”

Isandro takes his eyes off the knife and looks up at Olive. “...Do you want me to join you?”

“Well, if you could... That’d be nice.” His face lightens up.

“One small condition, I’m not turning green. You turn red.”

 

Olive hadn’t changed his ink so drastically for a very, very long time. He was always in between the spectrum of greens and yellows, with his signature dulled green always on display. It’ll be a tad awkward to adjust to the new look for the day, though it’s a negligible request.

 

“Okay, I guess. Odd condition."

 

Thus, they find themselves warming up in the lobby, ready for a best-of-3 Tower Control. The duo has been paired up with another lovely one, which catered to Rodi’s ink colour, to his content.

 

Coming from a high school that promotes turf battles up to the point of shoving them down their students’ throats, Olive’s accustomed to the pre- and post-match jitters, they're negligible. It’s the battle itself that unnerves him, especially when he's in the frontline and can’t have a squid watching his back. And when he wants to stay behind and support, he’s often scolded for not being involved enough. He wonders how Isandro would act during battle, and it turns out he’s less chaotic than Pepper, though less orderly than himself. A spot-on midpoint.

 

The good thing is that his flatmate has a clue about his weapon’s and his own weaknesses, and would rather avoid commencing a face-on confrontation with anyone, unless he's confident he’ll win or it's the final stretch of the match. He’s sneaky. Whenever Olive has someone cornered, Rodi shows up by luck and finishes the guy off. Strength comes in numbers, both know that well. They develop their own flow, Olive will strategically bait out and distract any opponents to be wiped out by his teammate, whilst the other pair handles the objective.

 

All in all, it goes well, with nothing out of the ordinary happening. Up until Olive gets himself baited by a stray patch of ink. His poor Nozzlenose can’t be as quick as the Carbon Roller that’s now after him. They’re successfully throwing his aim off with a dizzying swimming pattern. He should run.

 

Avoiding all dubious ink ripples, he manages to swim and shoot away, though during the chase he’s left with an empty tank in a dead end. He submerges his bottom half in ink to regenerate. Bummer, he won’t be quick enough to shoot. Watching his rival flick ink everywhere and swim lightning-fast towards him, he braces himself for the painful splat. Little did the roller know that Rodi is on his tracks, but Olive already shut his eyes. He kept them sealed for too long already. A bit confused, Olive opens his eyes to see a hand stretched in front of his face. His puddle dissolves and he freezes in surprise.

 

“Come on, quicker. That was the last guy alive. We’re winning.” Rodi talks whilst looking at the moving tower in the distance. “Jump with me there.”

 

 

Anthos does as told, he grips Rodi’s whole arm and they shift into their inky selves. Their arms stay well locked even as tentacles. Rodi shoots off in the air, pulling Olive behind, and both land onto the unsupervised tower.

 

Knockout.

 

It wasn’t a bad idea. They’re counting their winnings for the day from the couch, and it’s a respectable amount. Considering their average mid-tier ranks, they’ve done well enough to earn like a mid-high rank. All in all, turf war still leaves them shortchanged, especially at their level. He can't rely solely on this.

 

Anthos will take better care of his finances. He puts his share away in an envelope, clearly and boldly labeled _apartment_. He hides it in between t-shirts. He closes the closet's door, and spends some time in front of its mirror. Although he's tired from today's matches, he's looking way better than a week ago, clearly he's getting back on track. His face reflects his feelings with fidelity, so it's relieving to see there's some progress made. And something curious, although not so significant, made Olive look and feel renewed. Rodi's also brought it to his attention.

 

“Huh,” the older inkling tilts his head. ”You’re still red-inked.”

“Um..." He pats his tentacles. "I forgot about that.”

“You’re gonna stay like this?”

“Should I not?”

Isandro's shrugging off. “Do what you want.”

 

He just discovered red ink looks good on him. However, he's not gonna keep it on for long, it feels weird to hold onto another's ink colour. It's something more suited for settled couples, professional teams or families, and people might get the wrong idea.

 

"I'll keep it until I start Kelp Dome."

 

* * *

 

Rodi ditched his gig at iShipIt, to his content. It didn't last long, all it took was Olive asking for a teammate a few more times, and he found the winnings to be enough for now. Even if the deliveries were starting to pay better, since the company's growing soaringly fast, Isandro cares as much about what he does, not only about how much he gets. It wasn’t too interesting.

 

Now, Olive isn't doing something he doesn't like, per se, but his excitement sizzled out when he found out his job around Kelp Dome's greenhouse is to pretty much be the waterboy. First day in, he barely got time to tend to the plants surrounding him, as he was running from corner to corner, carrying sacks of dirt, seeds, fertiliser and planters. He's been a busy worker bee, catering to whatever requests for the day, and it looks like he doesn't really have a chance to apply his knowledge and passion too soon.

 

Though, for those short moments when he could look around, and see greenery surrounding him, walking from one end to another started becoming a bit more enjoyable. It's the middle of the season, fruits and veggies are already turning plump and mouthwatering. Plucking one for himself is completely out of the discussion, but he'll be tempted all the time to grab one as a snack for home.

 

Once people stop stumbling upon him only to put him on the chase, Olive finds a corner to sit in. His legs burn from all the walking, and especially from the warmer air in the workplace. He picked the wrong shoes for the job, and he's eager to let the day finish and avoid wearing them for as long as he'll work.

 

While circling his ankles around, he looks straight ahead. A rather untended corner of the greenhouse is right here, left to time's mercy, gathering dust and dried up roots for god knows how long. Nothing grows in this small patch, except for one plant. Anthos has some strong doubts that it's still living: it's a thick vine messily twisted on a trellis, that's neither showing signs of life or rot. It must've been impressive at its time, if you'd straighten it up it's actually taller than most of the ones Kelp Dome currently grows.

 

A co-worker passes around, with a bucket in her arms. She's a spider crab with a carefree step, and she tied the uniform's white coat around her waist. He's seen her around for a few times today, and he figured she might work on plant propagation.

 

She notices Olive. "You're looking at this? 'Atta shame," she’s making her country girl vibe more obvious.

"Yeah. Since when's it been like this?" He stretches out to engage in the conversation better.

"Lordy, longer than I've been here. This used to be a fine trellis, I've heard, but it's been so long nobody knows what grew on it."

"And they just let it like that?" he furrows his eyebrows and gestures to the sorry state of the corner.

"Not fer long, they're destroying the corner by the end of summer."

 

Upon hearing that, Olive's heart throbs harder. This is unjust, it's as if you're executing an innocent man. He wants to give this little patch a second chance, to see what mysterious fruits this vine once gave, but he knows he won't be able to be its saviour. This isn't part of his job, this isn't why he came here, and nobody will bat an eye at his request. Though, his head burns from how determined he's become.

 

The co-worker keeps on her way, and he's too stunned to stop the spider crab from leaving. Her keycard dangles behind, and Olive at least gets a chance to look at her name. _Desi_ , she'll help for sure once she hears his idea.

 

However, there's no time for a random dried-out vine. Days fly by, and still...

 

Anthos' shifts are a lot of lifting and carrying sacks of soil, pouring out said soil, and dusting up any that may fall out. That's all there is, but done over and over again. The business decided to change out the unfavourable soil found in the leguminous sector for a fancier one. And if he finishes that early, he's also responsible for planting back whatever was there, giving him little wiggle room to ask about the forgotten corner of the greenhouse.

 

He can't ask in passing either, Desi's working as hard on the opposite end, and he has no idea who else would listen to him or even know about the situation. While he might’ve lost hope for asking nicely to not bulldoze that corner, it’s not enough to stop him from giving it the love it needs.

 

The green inkling finally sneaks past working hours along the aisles. All the equipment, including watering cans and hoses have been placed in the sheds, but he's still got a mug of water. He'll use that mug wisely. It's laborious, but it works: he'll use the leftover water from the cooler. Olive pours full cups onto the plant's base. He could use some water himself, though, one mug at a time, he's giving it to these helpless roots. No matter how many times he'd have to go from the cooler to the crop, he won't leave until there's no water left.

 

 

* * *

 

Short of a week in his job, Olive's batteries run dangerously low. His head rests on his pillow.

 

In an excess of ambition, he's taking way more shifts than initially agreed, basically turning his part-time into a full-time, sometimes with the hair-pulled overtime. Besides, he burdened himself with babysitting a plant with little chances to survive. His hands were once baby-soft all over, now they're roughed up by the dirt and gardening tools. He's really pushing it, all in an effort to satisfy Rodi's burning need to have to house to himself again, and, not to forget, tickle his own ego in the right place.

 

There's some serious mental workout he has to do to prove the world he's _so_ self-made, a towering boulder, but he's falling a length short of that. He shuts down after his shifts, and his eyes still get diverted to the five foot and a potato silhouette of his flatmate. That's how far Anthos' willpower goes, it stops at his attempts to use Rodi's puny height as a distraction from how captivating he's become under his sight.

 

If only he didn't do everything so much like _himself_. Rodi has a tendency to drag the tip of his toes on the floor whilst walking slowly around, and not raise his leg fully. In front of the closet’s mirrors, he keeps on his small back and forth, and he takes off his outdoor clothes. Olive’s dozing off, though he keeps a watchful eye.

 

That gait stirs up his curiosity, it's relaxed, though so full of itself, as if raising his knee a little more just isn't worth it after the miles and miles he might've walked before. _Cocky bastard, where might've he stepped before?_

 

It was supposed to die down, but it's getting worse. Olive though he'd keep himself in check with the occasional night spent with his red-inked flatmate, spent to relief boredom and quiet down some of his intrusive thoughts. On a second thought, it might've backfired. While there's no better way to make your mind shut up about what-ifs and what-nots, the way they've handled it created more questions as such. They've got a fair share of happy endings, with little added value from how casually they've looked down on them, but soon enough they've grown more invested into their time while the lights are down low. It's still on casual terms, however, rather than having one of them ask for a snog, for lack of the better things they could do, they know it's becoming an unspoken expectation. They at least expect to ditch the shirts when they're in bed. The difference is that Olive's starting to take it more seriously. Rodi still won't bother with thinking what comes ahead of an orgasm.

 

It’s been a few days, and long ones, for that matter, since they got to sleep together again. And he'll admit that seeing the sun-kissed skin for this brief moment makes Olive yearn for another caress. There's also a restless feeling mixed around this yearning, predicting how Rodi's lost the interest in whatever they've started, but it could be a stretch. It's never sure when he'll get to see his red-inked lover again to ask some burning questions, so he blinks the tiredness away from his eyes.

 

Though, this is Isandro he’s looking at, he’s got no intentions to turn the lights down so early. He slips on a satin night robe and ties it loosely. As loosely, he holds a cigarette in his mouth and heads for the balcony.

 

Without much thought behind it, Olive follows his trail, including the come and go in front of the mirrors. Replicating Isandro's sort of special steps ends up to be pretty embarrassing, he trips over his own toes. Nobody saw that, so it was worth a try.

 

But enough of that, he bites the bullet and heads for the balcony. It's the first time he gets to hang with Rodi in here, in this little retreat, though he's feeling restrained from being self-invited. He sits on the free chair. It’s uncomfortable and kinda cold, since it’s cheap and metal, but he’ll bear with it. Upon his arrival, Rodi shifted higher up on his chair, and tightened his robe.

 

“Hi babe. Didn’t you go to bed?” Rodi turns his head a little to his right.

Anthos shortly realises he might be a bother. “We didn’t get a chance to talk lately. I finally saw you in, so...”

“Mmm,” it’s as if he’s trailing off to his previous thoughts, and postponing them for this conversation. “How’s life going in that greenhouse?”

Olive sits himself better and hums. “It's not what I've though, it takes some time getting used to.”

 

As he thinks of what to say next, his flatmate’s been looking at him silently, attentive, but not at his cigarette. The hand-rolled cigarette goes off in his hands from a stronger breeze, and his annoyance was clear as day when he tried taking a drag from it. He couldn’t feel any smoke come out. Olive didn’t notice it going off, as he initially took the swears under Rodi’s breath personal, but once he figures what happened, he keeps himself from snorting loudly.

 

Rodi’s talking through his beak while lighting it back. “Haven’t you seen this sorta deal before? You told me you fucked around the University’s greenhouses.”

“Oh man, it’s a different vibe,” Olive hopelessly laughs.

 

There are still sunset traces on the navy sky. Summer’s going to come to an end quicker than they’ll realise, so they’re taking in any nice sight while they can. Along the pink and yellow clouds dances a dash of smoke, disturbing the pretty sights. Trailing back its origin reveals a stylish hand, recognisable by its pointy, black fingernails. Their owner’s so oddly reserved.

 

At the risk of being even more bothersome, Olive asks: “How about your day?”

“Let’s see. Went to the gym, then put all the burned calories back in at the bar,” he's scolding himself.

“Leg day, huh,” Olive muses.

But Rodi scowls in confusion. “...What?”

“You’re dragging your legs around, so I guess you’ve done legs?” Olive’s not an expert in gym jargon.

“That’s not it, honey,” he blurts out, and neither will he detail.

There's one more unsolicited thought, one that struck Anthos odd. "I see you didn't hang much at that bar either."

"Mmhm."

 

Obviously, anything related to Rodi's quirks is nobody’s business, so you take them as they are. When it comes about others, he can yap so much, but he will never squeak about himself without some ruffling.

 

Anthos might've took enough chances. “Tell me if you need some quiet.”

“Don’t need it.”

“I know you like to hang here alone, so I’m pretty much invading your space.”

In such a cunning way, Rodi’s catching possible pretences. “Oh, then, if you already know this, you should have a reason to be here,” he’s not giving up the questioning stare without an answer.

 

How to make it sound more tactful than it is? Olive's never as good with words. “I was wondering when you’d join me.”

 

Isandro's expression didn’t change, it never changes with such questions, but he gradually eases off his stare. It takes a long inhale and a slow blink to break the suspense. “Maybe after I finish this,” he gestures with the cigarette-holding hand, then taps the ashes off.

 

Only after that sentence, he allows himself to smile ever so slightly. His mouth doesn’t curve much, but his cheeks raise and soften his glowing eyes. On the other end, Olive’s dull and tired eyes catch a flame, their irises are blooming. He stays steady tempered, but he's a step away from boiling inside.

 

There’s no such wild spark in the pomegranate eyes. He's happy the feeling is mutual, he’s getting something risen out of him, though, where's the fun for the other one? Rodi's too jaded for anymore excitement, and Olive's relapsing for the taste of it. As much as he loves that warm gaze of his, this is not where and when he wants it. He wants those looks after a night of loving. Olive wishes his desires wouldn't seem so trivial, perhaps comfortable for his partner, he wishes that his smug mug would become woozy, be surprised for once. The same tired thought keeps running around his mind. _I want you to want me the same._ He'd never ever admit it, and the simple realisation of it pisses him off, for how ridiculous it is, but Olive's suddenly teetering close to frustration. He's not even sure where the hell this stems from, the man did nothing wrong. He’s taken aback himself from how capricious he turned.

 

Meanwhile, it seems that Rodi noticed how intense the stare turned on the other end.

 

Sensing how his lover stiffened up, Isandro goes back to his "serious business" expression. With the smooth flow he always showcases, he puts off the cigarette way earlier than needed, then gets up. Just before getting back in, he trails his hand behind his walk, to tell Olive to follow him. Rodi handles it all a bit too professionally, though it still leaves Olive's body to melt.

 

He shouldn't give him the satisfaction to be tossed around like that, at least not so early. But it's so hard, he just got what he wanted, so why ruin it with these caprices? He already knows his pride would be the first thing to give in when faced with such a treat for his senses. Don’t let it slip. Once he sees the situation from the other end, it's a completely different state of mind. It's pure joy, it's what he wanted.

 

Everything Olive would want is in an arm's, a grab's, and a tug's reach. The sequences carry on, and it's all in the best light. There's the green light, in the shape of a kiss with a lot to say. He’s desired, there’s nothing more that he could ask for. It seems that Olive misjudged Rodi's lack of expressiveness during his invitation, he just shows his vulnerable, touchy side at the opportune moments.

 

The older inkling keeps at the same pecks on the lips until he gets the cue. Sure, fine, to hell with playing hard to get. Anthos’ less dainty hands pull Rodi’s hips forwards. Olive’s guard is all low, as is his spine sinking in the mattress foam. He’s leaving the matter in Rodi’s hands. After all, he’s shown better initiative before and he’s a better fire starter. There’s so many redundant materials in between: satin and cotton, plastic buttons and copper zippers, they’re all clawed away.

 

Soothe up, go with the flow, breathe a little heavier. He should be so grateful for the bare figure on top of him, and he certainly is.

 

The green eyes sparkle at the shift of their owner’s temper. Two bodies start moving in simultaneous impulses. It’s charming and a little amusing to watch Olive’s lax attitude keep intertwining with his feistier one. His expression goes a little more serious, concentrated, and it can fade as quickly as it forms. There’s a lot of joy in holding and seeing flesh in motion, fingertips going from dainty to tugging and pulling in ardour.

 

Nothing special from the outside, though the beauty will always be in the eyes of the beholder. But the sight starts to fail, and he’s left with his other senses. The skin’s getting warmer, the perfume’s mixing with it, and the fingernails raking on the bedsheets sound sharper. All this nudging is getting him closer to the bed's headboard. It can get too good to be true, his buttons are pushed in the right way. So he gasps, he’d usually get self-conscious and seal his lips for the rest of the night, but his jaw stays relaxed, an open doorway for the vibrations in his chest.

 

His mouth’s drying from keeping it open so long. With his tongue plastered over Rodi’s arm, he catches any drip of sweat trickling down the skin. Maybe love _is_ chemistry, here’s something that chemically fits both so well. However, they’re simpleminded and have typical cravings, typical even for atypical romantics like them. The origin is unclear, the puzzle pieces fell together by chance, and they fit as such in their woven limbs.

 

Olive would open up his eyes when the rhythm slows down, to see the other's ponytail slip out of its hairtie. It lays low by nature, though it slipped even lower through every bit of this. He loves the sight, however, he can't keep his hands from tying the tentacles back up where they belonged, and then to let them slip again as the night becomes dawn. Without warning, his arms stretch to the pair of tentacles, and he pushes the black hairtie gently back into place. Rodi's expression turns to one of wonder. He loses all of his motion, taken aback by the somewhat tender moment. This lets Olive's heart become even more fluttery, so with a bliss smile and half-shut eyes, he pulls his lover's head down for another kiss.

 

 

Don’t keep it too long, as tempting as it is, since he has to go to work tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

He’s rubbing the tiredness out of his eyes. He skims through his papers for one last time, just before heading off to the University’s submission office. His penciled botanical sketches did not smudge, all the photos are still glued-on, the writing’s legible enough and he’s more than relieved to be ready to submit. With everything out of the way, he will focus better on Kelp Dome.

 

Right in front of the office, he spots June, handing a submission of her own. This is an ungraceful situation for the younger inkling, he doesn’t know if he should start chit-chatting, ignore her or wait it out until she leaves. As she already side-eyed him, he has no choice but keep moving towards the office, handing his papers quietly. At least the whole process of signing and dating and numbering pages is a good excuse for keeping his mouth shut. Once June is done with hers, she initiates small talk.

 

“First year project?”

Olive gives a tiny nod. “Yes, it’s all done. At last,” he softly laughs.

“Good job. I have always found the first projects fun.”

“I’m pretty sure yours are more interesting.”

“You will see, if you ever decide switching your course.”

“Ah, well, I’m still considering...” He’s still rather coy around Maure, even after the end of their relationship.

“How have things been lately for you?”

“Alright.” He shouldn’t say he’s basically homeless, he’ll word it nicely. “I’ve started work, I've moved elsewhere... I’m living with someone.” Maybe he made it look more impressive than it actually is.

June nods with interest. “I’m relieved, for you moving on and such so fast.”

“I hope you’re also good.”

“Of course. I will finally get my diploma, after all.” June’s radiating confidence.

 

And there they finish off with some smiles and head their ways.

 

Which is great, they didn't divagate into a longer, potentially sensitive discussion. Olive doesn't want to look brought down for his next plan in the schedule, which he awaited with joy. After two weeks of not hearing from each other, he's meeting Pepper up at one of their favourite places, a comfy cafe with the sweetest milkshakes in town.

 

Upon her sight, Pepper jumps into the chokehold hug, as always. They go in, place their orders, and sink into their seats. This cafe is a popular choice also for its unique chairs, which are custom made to be heavenly soft.

 

Pepper looks very excited and impatient about something. "Check this out, dude, check this right now."

 

Not even a minute in, Pepper hands her phone to Olive. It's left on a paused video, he plays it and is left wide-eyed and amazed, as he watches her do crazy stunts. She's flipping and spinning her skateboard in the air, and lands back on it, although with a bit of a wobble. Olive even holds his breath a bit, since he's so scared of Pepper getting hurt. He’s quite protective of her. Obviously, this is just a playback and she's in front of him still in one piece, but Ludmila's still a bit amused at how visibly tense he got.

 

Pepper pats his shoulder. "Chill out, I know what I'm doing!"

"You learned this by yourself?"

"This trick, and that trick, but," she fake gasps, "act surprised, 'cuz someone helped me with the rest! You remember the girl I was talking about, the one before you ditched the old house, don't you?"

Ack, Anthos feels bad for not recalling. Those were some turbulent days. He acts as if he's remembering, but it's taking too long and Pepper can read him.

"Chick I met? Pink ink? Skateboards with me? Graduated the year before you?"

Hints don't help. "...You know I never talked to anyone outside my year. Besides you."

Her sigh is overdramatic, she plops her forehead on the table for a second. "Whatever! She's the raddest person ever, that's all you need to know! I've kept on skateboarding with her and we even started talking."

"Wait, I know now," Olive straightens up after some more thinking. "You asked me about that. You actually did it," he's smiling.

She grins back and makes the victory sign.

 

Their milkshakes arrive, so they have to take some solemn seconds for the first sips. Pepper's looks very out there, full of whipped cream and biscuits sticking out of it, which gradients into chocolate goodness. Olive's a little more toned down, he always orders the pastel green one, which has some mint leaves as garnish. He ate them once, and everyone thought he's insane. He still argues it was _good and refreshing_ , with an offended expression.

 

Pepper chats on without catching her breath after her milkshake sips. "Donna isn't like the cool kids at all! She's cooler than the coolest kids. You wouldn't tell at first, 'cuz she looks like she doesn't know on what planet she's on. But she is!"

Her highschool friend nods along. He's convinced, for sure.

"If you think about it, we've both met new people at the same time, huh."

"...Did we?" Olive takes his lips off the straw for once.

"Um, yeah? You moved in with that guy."

"Ah," he's now a man of even less words.

"Aaaand?"

"Right."

"He's not as much of a bitch, then?" Pepper echoes her teammate’s words from weeks ago.

From monotone, his voice goes chirpy. "What makes you say that? You haven't seen him." In a sudden shift of character, Olive grins and pokes at his fangs with the straw. He gets a certain feeling when he has Rodi in mind.

"You didn't whine to me at all about him, I was expecting some texts from you, you know," she brings up with some annoyance.

"Sorry. Moving in went smoother thank I thought, that's why. I can't bother you with my shit anymore, I can stand on my own feet."

"Oh shoot, here comes Mr. Confidence, who entirely forgot he's homeless!"

"I didn't, it's... something in progress. I was freaking out before I knew anything concrete, but I have a plan now, and I can afford mellowing down."

"Yeah, right! You, calm at a stranger's house!" Pepper can't picture it.

 

 

"Honestly, I kinda forgot he's supposed to be a stranger. We're friends now," he clarifies with his eyes to the side.

"Oh, I see. That's really nice to hear!" she sinks in her chair a little, gets even cosier. "I see what you're doing now, you're planning to be roommates for realsies, right?"

"Not really... He's helping me out for now, but I still have to move out. There's only so much to someone's kindness, but, then again, I have no reason to complain. It’s enough for me. He pushed me to solve it faster, I'm now holding an offer for some apartment."

"Sweeeet. Can you get it with the Kelp Dome cash?"

"The pay's so-so," he gestures with his hands, "but I think I can manage some rent... That's all I kinda need to go back to my usual life, maybe ditch Kelp Dome and do something else. Commercial greenhouses aren't for me, a botanical garden sounds way less stressful," he laughs it off.

"Haha, no wonder! I'm dead sure it's from all the sudden battles in there."

"Huh, it's not that bad. You get a coffee break until the ink goes away, I'm not even mad. It pisses off people who actually do stuff there, I only move bags of dirt."

"Putting that degree to good work, aren't you?" Pepper playfulness turns into a roasting.

...Which makes Olive meeker. "Come on, now. It all starts from somewhere."

 

* * *

 

Predictably, Kelp Dome became a bigger pain in the ass. Olive's been tasked to work in another sector of the greenhouse, thus further away from the corner he'd secretly babysit. He can't stop worrying about it. It's no longer in his sight, and they could tear it down any minute. He's wasting even more energy, changing his routes so that he'd see it each time, just to make sure it's not gone.

 

At the end of his shifts, as always, he doesn't go home, but goes to see what his adoptive plant is up to, and tend it back to a happy state. It's easier to do it at the end of the day, with a bit more privacy. Olive sees something intimate in this unrequited care he's offering, he's less likely to be as tender and thoughtful with people around.

 

Slightly nervous, he pokes around the plant, to see if there's any progress. The vine's no longer crunching up under his fingers, it's turning flexible and curly, and he was about to cry when he saw a baby leaf stem off. It took some serious work to see this little progress, but it's there, and it feels great.

 

Back at the apartment, unlike other evenings, he's looking cheerful and carefree. He ditched the staple ready meal and took the time to toss up a fresh salad.

 

Of course, Rodi couldn't miss the chance to scoff.

 

"Colour me _fucking_ impressed, you cooked?"

"I wouldn't call it cooking," Olive speaks with leaves falling out of his mouth, "but I put more effort in it, yes."

The older inkling drags a chair out and sits by him. He curls his hands under his square chin. "When will you start cooking for me, hmm?"

"You're already thinking of going domestic?"

"Domestic? Never. Look at me. Anyway, I'm just curious when I'll get that little token of appreciation. You know, for turning your gloomy face into a happy pancake."

"I'll let you know that I'm happy from work."

"And thanks to me."

"Eh," Olive's dreamy mind is already drifting to the dozens of tiny leaves his vine could now grow.

Rodi never pouted faster in his life. Funny enough, he genuinely got a little upset.

"Ah, wait, you've helped me a bunch, don't get me wrong. Really. You see, I'm so happy for one of my plants back in the Dome, I can't stop thinking about it."

"You have plants even there?" he says slightly exhausted.

"It's not mine, technically, but nobody else wants to take it under their care. I brought this thing back to life on my own, while others couldn't," the green inkling boasts. He hasn't done that in long, but it comes as naturally as ever.

"Wow, look 'atcha."

"You see these hands?" he raises them to display how blistered they've got. "I take the most care of everything that grows in there. No wonder I'm doing miracles."

"That's so cute. Also, I have a hand cream for those uglies in your palm."

"Oh... But you never did any heavy work, did you?"

"No, don't think so," it's odd how he hesitates, as if he isn't sure what his previous jobs were. "Though, I used to get blistered palms while working, and I always had to hide that shit in so little time. I know how to fix it up real quick, real good."

 

Olive doesn't need to ask for it, Rodi's already off to bring the said cream. He throws the tube on the table, and Olive has to catch it before it flies off the edge.

 

"Ack! Can you hand things like a normal being?"

Rodi settles again. "Yeah, anyway, why are you working your ass off for some random plant? Don't they have thousands there? What's one less?"

"I have the slightest hope that it's something rare," Olive details in a warm tone. "Nobody knows what it is, but I want to be the one to discover. And," he glows with a smile, "I'm so sure I'll get to see it back to its full glory. Today convinced me."

It's pretty heartwarming, the older inkling begins smiling as well. "So cool. That sounds like a reason to celebrate."

"Oh, I kinda miss going out for drinks..." Olive suddenly remembers the life he had before responsibilities.

"Let's go, tonight."

In a breath, Olive gets ups grinning from one ear to another, though he soon zips it up and slowly sits down. "No, wait... I'm starting my shifts earlier this week."

"Mmm..." Rodi polishes his nails on his shirt. "Want to do it on Friday then?"

"If I make it 'till then."

"I'll make sure," Rodi coos, and stealthily steals a salad leaf from Olive's bowl. He keeps smirking as the other glares him down for downright thievery.

 

* * *

 

Strange spots appeared on the leaves of one of his potted plants. The heart-shaped leaves are usually a rich emerald green, however, yellowish spots have dotted their ends. Olive suspects it might be the excess of light in the spot it was settled on, though he'd never seen these spots happen before.

 

Eyebrows furrowed in concern, he stacks the flowerpot on some of his textbooks from university, on a dimmer shelf. He doesn't need them, at least until he starts his second year. That way, it can be sheltered from the stronger summer rays, though catch any stray light slipping in there during the day. He gives it its weekly dose of watering with his miniature watering can and takes a few steps back, to see how it's arranged relative to everything else. In the process, he notices something that always catches his eye.

 

Since he moved in, every time he passes the wall shelves in the living room, Olive glances at a framed photo. It's a small, red-inked boy, spun around in the arms of a young mother, a lady with striking features and an expensive taste, a bit reminiscent of Maure. The scene is sweet, but the background of it is more intriguing. Olive gets a sense of familiarity from the scenery surrounding the two.

 

"You keep looking at that." Rodi passes by with a broom in his hand.

"Where was this taken?"

"Really? Where? Everyone asks me who's in there, not where."

"I could figure it's you, obviously."

"Yeah. It was made before my family moved into Inkopolis, so it's probably my home city."

 

Rodi keeps going his way, but Olive's eyes are still pinned on the picture, concentrating on long past memories. His voice makes him turn around.

 

"If you like that so much, I can show you more."

 

Olive hesitates, but shoots off a brief nod and watches Rodi leave his broom behind on the floor, taking out a wooden box from the shelves. The two sit down, and Isandro reveals photos of his earlier days. It's a mix of friends, sights, and parents. He’s always glued to his mother, in every picture. His father is a posh businessman, who stays serious throughout all photos. There’re also photos taken at important events, such as graduations and birthdays, and finally, breaking the pattern, landscapes. Soft sand, turquoise crystal water, sharp cliffs that crash into the sea, resilient and yellowish-green flora, these are specific sights of the Aegean region. It’s a popular destination for holidays, quite different from the Calamari region.

 

“Mum loves her camera, and she loves holding a physical photo, so she printed a bunch of them. But she forgot all of her photographs at home. ...I brought these with me while moving.” Rodi fidgets with the box lid.

Anthos is left in awe, he holds the landscapes closer to his face. “They’re very pretty. She’s talented.“

“It's so,” he says it in a demure way. Rodi’s eyes twinkle curiously. “You look starstruck.”

“Am I?” Olive shuts his slightly opened mouth after realising. He tries explaining himself. “...I know these places. I lived there.”

“Yeah, same. Just said that’s where I’m from.”

“So, we’re both Aegean?” Olive’s shining a toothy smile at this point.

 

It’s hard to explain the sort of excitement you get when you know someone also relates to your experiences, your upbringing, it’s sort of...

“Ain’t the world small? It’s this kind of things that tie us, isn’t it?”

Rodi used the right word. Tying.

 

* * *

 

Straight after work, he meets Pepper at the station. She's keeping Olive some company, as he gives his next apartment a last viewing, before proceeding with the next steps.

 

"Agent won't do any business if you have dirt under your nails," she laughs.

 

When he said he'd meet her right after work, it wasn't an understatement. He had a day full of repotting, for a change, and it shows. "Ah shit," he's raking the dirt out.

 

But having some soil under some fingernails isn’t as bad as what’s on Pepper’s knee. Olive just noticed her nasty bruise as they were climbing the block’s stairs, and he’s glancing at it in disappointment. It’s covering her entire knee, it’s as if she used it in place of chalk to draw hopscotch on the pavement.

 

“Dammit Pepper, what’s that on your knee?”

“No big deal!” She even dares to climb three stairs in one leap, with full-on disregard of any safety.

“I told you to be careful with that skateboard.”

“What are you, my mum? It’ll go away in two days, watch me.”

“It’d be nice if you wouldn’t hurt yourself on every new trick.”

“Man... I had to. I pulled it off after I fell on my stupid knee.”

“Ahh, wait, are you trying to impress your new friend?” He remembers her idol, who brought her into this hobby in the first place.

“N-no! Absolutely nuh-huh, I do all my tricks for myself!”

“If you say so.”

 

Pepper puffs her cheeks in annoyance. However, these two try to keep a straight face as the manta ray agent unlocks the door. It squeaks for enough time to make Olive a little nervous.

 

He's back in, and the hopeful vibes the apartment gave at their first viewing have dissipated. It's minimalistic, so much that it's short of pretentious. Nothing much changed since last time, except the new furniture’s in as requested, and any cracks and such are filled in, but the place still feels so empty, uninviting. Instead of being happy to move into a better home, he's unenthusiastic about the whole process, and being on his own once more. He needs it, but he doesn't really want it anymore.

 

"It's so empty," he looks around in apathy and reaffirms his thoughts.

"You mean it's too clean. No worries, my dude. Two days in it'll look lived in for years, you're talented like that," Pepper’s voice is bubbly as ever.

 

But even if he were to live in it and make it extra snug, it wouldn't be enough, there's a missing piece. He got too used to having someone else invading his space, which was once sacred and essential. What's the point of a personal space, if there's nobody to cross it? Living alone is now looking grim and unnerving, even if he already did it before.

 

Pepper's in contrast very playful about it. "I can already see all of your shitty knick knacks around!"

"I know I've insisted on being on my own, but... I think I should find someone to share the flat with, we could split the costs..."

"For reals? You were so set on it! You should've considered it earlier."

"Right," it's too late for Olive to make such changes. “I should rather stick to my plan.”

Pepper looks up to him in worry. “Shoot, is it too much for what you’re making?”

“No, not at all... I said I’d manage.”

“Then what’s up with the holdback, bud?”

 

The fuzzy feelings he had in his belly, they turn to spikes and stab around when he considers his whole situation with Rodi. He's taken aback from the sudden ache in his gut, he makes some steps back and hovers his hand over his lower torso. It's foolish to think as such, but... If he moves in here, would it end whatever they’ve got going? They will strand away, sooner or later. It's not as if it's coming as a surprise, he'd have to fly to his nest ideally before he gets too comfortable in his flatmate's bed. Though, it's starting to look sweet, scaring comfortable, and he sees themselves keeping on this exciting affair even with the separation. Will Rodi see the same?

 

This is a surefire way to lose someone as libertine as him. He doesn't want to grow distant from him in such an anticlimactic way. He'll have to make sure they're not losing touch too soon, for them to keep on laughing together and holding each other in colder nights. They'll have to pull through a makeshift relationship with a lot of upkeep, which Olive would be able to provide, even sacrifice for, but god knows if Rodi's up for the same. Here comes uncertainty again, right after he just got cozy with the certain.

 

The fuzz in his belly won't stop from morphing to pins. Pepper's figuring out his teammate isn't handling it too well. She intervenes.

 

"Mister, give him some more time to decide, we'll come back with an answer soon."

The manta ray's slow motion voice doesn't sound impressed. "I have people demanding this place with more confidence, later may not matter."

But Ludmila's on fast-forward whenever she speaks. "Puh-lease. He's anxious, it's the first time he's moving in his own place. You know, mummy's boy!"

 

Olive's still hanging on his gut, though an irked expression suddenly resides on his face. He shoots a dirty stare straight towards Pepper. Her cheeky lies used to escape awkward spots, they rub him wrong, they're always half brute truths, and half bogus. She always picks the truths that punch the hardest. The pain's switched off instantly, he stands mighty tall and says the final word.

 

"There's no need. I already made my mind. I'm taking it, please send the contract tomorrow."

 

The agent's looking more pleased. Anthos anticipates his friend's high-pitched protests, though nothing comes out of her mouth. When he looks over his shoulder to check on her, he sees how sad her mandarin eyes turned. So much for pushing the spikes away, they're crawling back. The fact that she's aware of, but unknowing of what's going inside him betrays her. _You're not okay, are you_ , her sight talks to him like nothing ever could.

 

 _I don't know what I'm doing,_ he frowns back.


End file.
